User:Tagaziel/rande

{| ! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_banewell

Transcript
Your journey is interrupted by a messenger from the Mountain Spire. A short, young man with a lank flop of dark hair and a surprisingly full beard, the messenger bears bloodshot eyes and a nervous disposition.

Inquire further.

Give your orders.

Ignore the Bane.

You press the messenger for more details. He tells you that there have been scattered Bane sighted throughout the valley, but they're thickest around Vendrien's Well Citadel and in the mountains that ring the old dominion. They've attacked a handful of travelers and devastated livestock throughout the valley. Given that the farms are still recovering from the Conquest, the rise of the Vendrien Guard, and the subsequent civil war between the Archons, it couldn't be a worse time for Bane to appear in Apex.

You consider how best to deal with the threat your Edict has stirred...

You inform the messenger in no uncertain terms that you do not have the time to worry about a handful of arcane monstrosities that are frightening some farmers. They should be able to deal with their own defense, just as they were before the Conquest.

He stammers out an apology before making a hasty exit.

[Pay 10000 rings] Hire mercenaries.

Lure the Bane away.

Request aid from your allies.

You tell your envoy to go to Lethian's Crossing. There's a heavy iron ring in it for a mercenary captain willing to test the mettle of their company against the writhing arcane horror of the Bane. The messenger nods eagerly and leaves you to continue your journey.

You theorize that a focused act of magic by a mystic at another Spire could draw the Bane away from the Mountain Spire. It won't be a simple thing to compete with an Edict, but it's a plan that could diffuse the issue without significant further bloodshed. Of course, you doubt the people in the area around the Spire will appreciate any Bane the magic attracts, but they should be better suited to deal with them than the farmers of Apex.

The question remains: which Spire to use as the lure?

You prepare a missive of your own, but which allies will you reach out to for aid against the Bane?

The Dawning Spire at Howling Rock

The Aurora Spire at Gulfglow Oldwalls

The Ocean Spire in the Blade Grave

The Sunset Spire at Lethian's Crossing

The Bronze Brotherhood

You send your envoy to the Spire with your orders: every able-bodied magician available should come together at the Spire's top and perform a group ritual. The working must last at least a night and a day, the missive states, and longer if possible. The Spire will magnify the magic, of course, and hopefully that will call the Bane from the valley farmlands.

The messenger thanks you for your time and leaves you to fulfill your command.

You send your envoy to the Spire with your orders: every able-bodied magician available should come together at the Spire's top and perform a group ritual. The working must last at least a night and a day, the missive states, and longer if possible. The Spire will magnify the magic, of course, and hopefully that will call the Bane from the valley farmlands.

The messenger thanks you for your time and leaves you to fulfill your command.

You send your envoy to the Spire with your orders: every able-bodied magician available should come together at the Spire's top and perform a group ritual. The working must last at least a night and a day, the missive states, and longer if possible. The Spire will magnify the magic, of course, and hopefully that will call the Bane from the valley farmlands.

The messenger thanks you for your time and leaves you to fulfill your command.

You send your envoy to the Spire with your orders: every able-bodied magician available should come together at the Spire's top and perform a group ritual. The working must last at least a night and a day, the missive states, and longer if possible. The Spire will magnify the magic, of course, and hopefully that will call the Bane from the valley farmlands.

The messenger thanks you for your time and leaves you to fulfill your command.

The Vendrien Guard

The Scarlet Chorus

The Disfavored Legion

The Stonestalkers

The Court of Fatebinders

The School of Ink and Quill

You send word to Welby that there's a reward in it for any Brother that clears out a pack of Bane from the Vendrien's Well valley. You doubt the mercenaries will even need the encouragement to test their mettle against the writhing arcane horrors, but an added incentive won't hurt. The messenger nods eagerly and leaves you to your journey.

You draft a missive to Tarkis Arri. The citadel is well-defended, you write, but the larger valley crawls with Bane. You order her to increase Vendrien Guard patrols throughout the valley and assign the most battle-hardened units to hunting down and dispersing the Bane. The messenger thanks you and leaves to carry your message home.

You're not entirely convinced that the Fifth Eye can read, but you suspect that someone in his retinue will be able to translate your missive if need be. You request that he send a cadre of Blood Chanters and Blood Hounds into the valley to tackle the Bane. These violent spell workers are hardly the ideal candidates, but one must work with the tools at hand. The messenger nods warily and leaves in search of a bird to send to the Chorus.

The Iron Marshal immediately springs to mind, and you draft a brief request for reinforcements throughout the valley. You recommend that the usual compliment of shields and runners be backed by a small cabal of Earthshakers; the Bane can be vicious foes to those unprepared to bring battle against the arcane. The messenger nods eagerly and goes in search of a bird to dispatch to the Disfavored.

Hardly envying the young man his task, you dispatch the messenger into the Stone Sea to locate the Stonestalkers. He'll have to convince them that he comes bearing the words of their Prima, and that a hunt has been called against the Bane in Vendrien's Well.

The blood drains from his face, though you don't know whether in response to the magnitude of the assignment, or the notion of Stonestalkers prowling around the valley. Regardless, he nods stiffly and leaves to carry out your orders.

You address your missive to Nunoval, Fatebinder of War, in the Bastard City and request his aid in the valley of Apex. You note that normally you wouldn't tax the Adjudicator's agents with such a menial task, but you thought he might enjoy the opportunity to set his mettle against the Bane. You suggest that Rhogalus, too, may be interested in their study and could certainly add to the surety of a victory over the arcane horrors. The messenger takes your missive and leaves to find a bird to Tunon's Court.

You draft a missive to Renata asking her to send some Sages into the field with backup from the Vendrien Guard stationed at the Mountain Spire. While their mission is to search out the Bane and end their threat to the commoners of the region, you make it clear that you wouldn't be opposed to any study of the Bane that might ensue. The messenger takes your missive and leaves you to your journey.

Ever since your issuance of the Edict against your foes at Vendrien's Well, the courier tells you, the valley of Apex has been beset by an ever-increasing number of Bane. The creatures seem inimical to all life, and their predations have the people of Apex hiding in terror rather than tending the fields.

If this keeps up, the lands you've claimed will not be able to support your Spire, regardless of how rapacious your tax collectors become. The messenger asks what orders you wish returned to the Spire...

The messenger nods eagerly and leaves you to your journey.

The messenger nods eagerly and leaves you to your journey.

The messenger nods eagerly and leaves you to your journey.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Ignore the Bane.  

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_courtermaster

Transcript
You make out a few figures on the road well ahead of you. The glint of iron and bronze marks them as well-armed and armored. Two feature the broad shoulders of Beastmen haulers and lead a heavily-laden cart. As they near, you realize that the standard flown from their cart boasts the heraldry of Tunon the Adjudicator, Archon of Justice. They hail you as you approach.

You recognize the woman who leads the procession as a minor functionary in Tunon's service by the name of Alma. Her clothes bear the red, black, and gold of the Court, and she keeps her light brown hair in a carefully braided bun atop her head.

Speak with them.

Continue on.

You pass the retinue by and continue towards your destination.

"Fatebinder [Player Name|," she greets you with a bow. "I travel in the Archon's service. The cart behind me is laden with supplies, all at a reasonable price. Is there anything I can provide you?"

Shop.

Leave.

Alma grins. "Of course! Let me show you what I have." She pulls the cover off of her cart with a flourish.

Alma bows. "Then safe travels, Fatebinder. Hail Kyros!"

Ahead of you on the road you make out the cart of Alma, a provisioner of Tunon's court, accompanied by her guards and two Beastmen haulers leading a cart. She hails you as you approach.

"Fatebinder [Player Name|! It's always a pleasure to see you." Alma bows deeply. "My cart is heavy with supplies from the court. Care to peruse them?"

Continue...

Continue...  

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_dysenteryberries_1

Transcript
After a few hours of difficult travel through an area with dense undergrowth, you happen upon a small stream where you can refill your waterskins and wash the sweat from your brow. Nearby, you spot a large copse of narrow trees with leaf-bearing vines coiling around their trunks.

As the vines snake upward, dozens of thin, yellowish-green stems spring forth along the plant's cane, some of them stiff and upright, others drooping downward like long hairs. At the end of these stems, an explosion of bright orange berries radiates outward, ripe and abundant. To your eye, they appear to be Bristleberries.

They're a very distinctive fruit, nutritious and energizing. They're also, unfortunately, exceedingly similar in appearance to Bristlebane, a berry that is tolerated by Beastmen and animals but rather toxic to humans.

Examine the berries.

Rub the berry pits against your skin.

Examine the vine's leaves.

Eat the berries.

Leave.

Judging the berries a greater risk than they're worth, you decide to leave the colorful fruit alone. Replenished waterskins will have to suffice for now, and continue on your way.

Clustered together in tight drupelets, the berries vary from bright orange to a yellowish-orange color. The size of each individual fruit differs slightly between Bristleberry and Bristlebane, but it's very difficult to determine without the two side by side.

Better to test with your skin rather than your stomach. You break off a cluster and mash the berries between your fingers, revealing the tiny pits inside. Working in slow circles, you rub them against your arm for a few seconds. Your skin remains free of any stinging rash, which you take as a good sign.

The leaves extending from the main vine are bright green and lobed, with edges resembling undulating hills. This matches an old saying you recall about the berries: 'Leaves like hills, safe from chills. Leaves like rain, unending pain.'

You adopt a cautious approach, filling your pouches with berries while eating only a single cluster. The fruit is sweet and tart, surprisingly juicy for its size, and the thought of immediately eating another handful is tantalizing... but you restrain yourself. With the stream as your guide, you cut follow the dense forest and eventually reach the main road with little difficulty.

The rush of sugar and euphoria puts a spring in your step. Certain you spotted your edible berry from the toxic, you tear into your pouches and devour the berries, invigorated by every bite. Satisfied, you bound down the road, revitalized for the journey to come.

The berries appear to be safe.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...  

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_dysenteryberries_2

Transcript
The day's journey is trying, owing to uneven terrain and dusty conditions. You reach a bend in the path and spy a small clearing off to the side. Several small rodents skitter away as you approach. At the edge of the clearing, you see a familiar sight - leafy vines coiling around tree trunks.

As before, hundreds of thin, yellowish-green stems sprout from the vine, a collection of stiff bristles and elongated 'hairs,' each with a cluster of bright orange berries. To memory, you don't notice any significant difference between these plants and the ones you encountered previously.

Examine the berries.

Rub the berry pits against your skin.

Examine the vine's leaves.

Eat the berries.

Leave.

Judging the berries a greater risk than they're worth, you decide to leave the colorful fruit alone. Replenished waterskins will have to suffice for now, and continue on your way.

Clustered together in tight drupelets, the berries vary from bright orange to a yellowish-orange color. The size of each individual fruit differs slightly between Bristleberry and Bristlebane, but it's very difficult to determine without the two side by side.

Better to test with your skin rather than your stomach. You break off a cluster and mash the berries between your fingers, revealing the tiny pits inside. Working in slow circles, you rub them against your arm for a few seconds. Your skin remains free of any stinging rash, which you take as a good sign.

The leaves extending from the main vine are bright green and lobed, with edges resembling undulating hills. This matches an old saying you recall about the berries: 'Leaves like hills, safe from chills. Leaves like rain, unending pain.'

You adopt a cautious approach, filling your pouches with berries while eating only a single cluster. The fruit is sweet and tart, surprisingly juicy for its size, and the thought of immediately eating another handful is tantalizing... but you restrain yourself. With the stream as your guide, you cut follow the dense forest and eventually reach the main road with little difficulty.

A hour later, you feel a disconcerting tightness in your intestines, one that escalates in intensity with each step. Your stomach churns, and the pressure in your belly intensifies, your guts seemingly trying to coil into knots.

As a cold chill washes over your body, you recall the small rodents bounding away in the clearing. Their droppings must have contaminated the berries - an astute guess on your part, but one made far too late.

Beads of sweat coalesce along your brow and your intestines begin to burn - the pain is intolerable. You have barely enough time to depart the road and duck behind a tree before you empty your innards in opposite directions simultaneously, coating the nearby trees and shrubs in a violent, bloody, and seemingly unending spray. The stench alone makes you vomit again, forcing you into a unfortunate cycle of nausea, release, and repeat.

A half hour later, you find yourself splayed out on the dirt floor, panting and heaving. The cold sweat has broken, and the pain in your abdomen has subsided, for now. You drink deeply from your waterskin, exhausted and trembling. You stumble back to the road, grit your teeth, and continue on towards your destination.

It looked like rodent droppings on the Bristleberry vine, and you've heard more than one tale of roadside woe owed to contaminated food. Better to imagine the taste of that fruit than to feel your insides tie themselves into knots. You return to the path and try to ignore the bounty behind you, reminding yourself that a parched throat is better than unending fire in your belly.

As you examine the leaves, you notice a few of them have brown stains, dried and crusty. Small lines have been raked across the trunk hosting the vines - likely from a climbing animal foraging the berries.

The berries appear to be safe.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...  

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_faunaencounters 220

Transcript
You tense as a heavy gray form flashes across the path before you: long, ribbed horns curve in graceful arcs from its skull, and hooves thunder against the stone. An ibex! Hundreds of pounds of muscle, hide, and bone, quick and crafty, and you with only a moment to react.

Marching your way along a backcountry road, you spot a small flock of rotund, feathered beasts waddling around through the grass down the hill. You recognize them as flightless - irritable birds whose tough flesh seems a staple of life for many communities in the Tiers. You could almost certainly pick one of the creatures off for your dinner.

As you walk along the bank of a small streams, you hear splashing coming from the reedy shallows. You recognize it as the sound of the rushfish.

While no delicacy, the flesh of the rushfish is a common staple in Tiersmen cuisine. You look down into the water and see three of the whiskered creatures, fat and oblivious...

A rabbit stands statue still just off of the road ahead of you. As you come to a stop, its brown ear twitches, and you suspect that it's about to bolt into the nearby underbrush.

As you walk along a lonely stretch of open road, you see a single dog walking towards you. Its front right paw must be bad, judging by its uneven limp. A few breaks in its matted fur outline old scars. If it's noticed you, it hasn't given any indication of the fact.

As you pick your way across the rocky wilderness, you find what you at first take to be a bundle of cloth. Brief investigation, however, reveals it to be the dry, discarded scales of a serpent. Spreading it out, you realize the reptile must be twice your height and as thick as a gatepost.

Snakes of the Tiers are often venomous, but their meat is light, if chewy, with a flavor generally considered superior to the flightless birds that the Tiersmen prefer to hunt. A serpent of this size, however, may not be worth the effort...

Taking a break from your journey at a small freshwater pond, you notice several small troughs in the soft soil at the water's edge. Mud has been splattered about, and you recognize it as a telltale sign of wild hogs. Nearby hoof prints confirm your suspicions.

The markings seem fresh; the animal can't be far.

You make out a light rustling not far from your campsite. Wary of an ambush, you quietly flank the source of the sound only to come upon a foot-long grayish tube of flesh: a graveworm.

These pallid creatures do much to enrich the soil of the Tiers, but their meat can also make a bland, chewy meal if need dictates.

Hunt it.

Let it go.

Have Kills-in-Shadow hunt it.

Have Verse hunt it.

You have but a single chance to bring down the enormous, yet nimble beast...

The foul-tempered birds seem largely unaware of you for the moment...

As you look down on the slimy fish, they pay you no mind...

The rabbit watches you with a single dark eye.

The canine looks up at you, its tongue lolls out between its teeth, and it lets out the briefest hint of a high-pitched whine.

You peer down at the dried husk...

You find what you suspect are hoof prints in the muck...

The graveworm undulates slowly in the light of Terratus Grave, its rubbery gray skin speckled with bits of soil...

You decide to leave the animal be and instead continue on your journey.

Without hesitation, the Shadowhunter lurches after the animal, fur bristling over rippling muscle. You quickly lose sight of Kills-in-Shadow and her quarry.

The Beastwoman chuffs quietly at your request before slipping into the grass on all fours, limbs splayed out in every direction to keep her belly close to the soil. Soon she's gone.

The Shadowhunter regards your request with a cocked head and twitching ear. "Am not Mantaborn. Am not named Gills-in-Shallows. Do not swim-splash for food." She turns from you with a snort.

The Beastwoman chuffs quietly at your request before slipping into the grass on all fours, limbs splayed out in every direction to keep her belly close to the soil. Soon she's gone.

The Beastwoman walks over to the dog, her knuckles brushing the dusty ground. She scratches the dog behind the ear with a single long claw, then scoops her up and brings her to you. She sets the dog on the ground, then holds your eye in hers.

"Beastwoman brought dog to human who smells of Fatebinder." She then lopes away, leaving you with the dog. It looks up at you, crooked tail wagging.

The Shadowhunter chuffs softly before going to her knuckles, back arched, nose low to the ground. She sniffs the discarded skin, then crawls away into the brush.

Without hesitation, the Shadowhunter lurches after the animal, fur bristling over rippling muscle. You quickly lose sight of Kills-in-Shadow and her quarry.

"Human who smells of Fatebinder eats soil beast?" She shrugs, and approaches the worm, which makes a lethargic, belated attempt to burrow away.

The Shadowhunter effortlessly yanks its head from the dirt, and brings it to you. It undulates slowly in her palm, but has little way to defend itself.

Her thought and action one, Verse has an arrow nocked even as you give the order. She tracks the creature for only a moment before letting fly. The arrow catches it in the hindquarters, sending it stumbling before it regains its footing and barrels on along the rocks. Verse lets out a primal howl and takes off after it, dancing along the stones with at least as much grace as her quarry.

When she returns half an hour later, it is without the beast. She shrugs and says, "It's fucking heavy, Binder." She instead leads you to the carcass.

Verse grins. "Used to do this on the farm. Knew I wasn't worthwhile if I couldn't catch a flightless barehanded. Still got a few scars. Vicious little shits." She hunkers down and slips into the grass. As you watch, she makes her way down to the edge of the clearing, then leaps forth, running among the flightless and sending them fleeing in every direction. Like a great cat, she picks out one and gives chase, leaping upon it and wrestling it to the dirt.

When she makes her way back up the hill, she's leaking from a few new cuts, but her smile is brighter than her blood.

"Like shooting fish in a stream," Verse quips as she readies an arrow. Flashing moments later she's pulled the slimy creatures from the muck and presented them to you, skewered on her feathered shafts.

Verse looks at you, looks to the rabbit, looks back at you. "Really?" Her hands rest on her hips. "You can't think of any better use for my time?" In a flash you can barely follow, she hurls a dagger from sheathe to rabbit's belly, pinning it to the soil. She walks over, draws the blade from the dirt, wipes it on her tattered apparel, and walks away, leaving the twitching rabbit carcass for you.

Verse meets your request with blinking disbelief. "Are you kidding me, Fatebinder?" She gestures at the dog. "Dogs are hunters, not for hunting. And this one's clearly earned her rest. Leave her be."

Verse looks the discarded husk over. "You sure you want to tangle with something large enough to leave THAT behind?" She shrugs, readies an arrow, and leaves the road behind.

You hear her return before you see her, and when she comes into sight she's dragging a massive snake behind her, hands grasping the shaft of the arrow driven entirely through the creature's head. She heaves it to the ground, panting, and wipes her brow.

"Next time," she manages between heavy breaths, "you get to, manhandle the snake."

"With pleasure," Verse says with a grin. She sniffs her armpits, nods slightly, then glances up at you. "What? They can smell you coming if you're not careful." She stalks off of the road.

Hours later, she returns empty-handed and scowling. "Leave it," she grunts as she turns down the road. A final muttered oath makes its way to you: "Fucking pigs."

Verse stares at you. "I'm here to protect you, remember? Feeding you graveworm... I'm pretty sure that's the opposite." She walks away, shaking her head.

Kill it.

Care for it.

Leave it be.

The dog makes no attempt to prevent your deathblow. Indeed, she doesn't seem to see it coming.

The meat is gamey and tough, but filling.

You pet the dog and feed it some of your rations, and she pants, tail wagging tiredly. You eventually move on, bringing the dog with you, and you leave her with a youth from a village along your route who takes a shining to her. As you leave her, the dog watches you go, even as she nuzzles into her new master.

Perhaps smelling your rations, perhaps simply lonely, the dog follows you for a time, her limp cursing her to fall behind. Eventually she gives up on trailing you and turns back, continuing in the direction from which you came.

Shoot it with an arrow.

Throw a javelin at it.

Attack with Stone magic.

The arrow sinks into the ibex's flank and it stumbles, crashing to the ground. It struggles to stand, kicking up dirt and dust as it lashes out with hoofed feet. Even as it rights itself you place another arrow into its eye and it collapses, twitching as its life blood runs from its wounds.

In a flash you have your arrow nocked and let loose...

The projectile sinks into the ibex's front leg, sending it sprawling to the earth. It tries to force itself to its feet, lashing out wildly with its hooves. You ready another javelin and throw it true, planting it between the beast's ribs and directly into its heart.

You slide a javelin free from your gear and raise it above your shoulder, muscles tensing as you hurl it at the retreating animal...

Your fingers twist and bend, shaping a growing sigil between them as arcane radiance limns your form. Time seems to dilate as the ibex bounds past trees and among rocks. You release the torrential power flowing through you, reaching towards the animal to direct the force of the spell at your target...

The spell strikes a tree, reducing it to a cloud of splinters. The ibex moved more quickly than your magic, and you hear it springing to safety through the wilderness.

The arrow sinks into a tree as the ibex bounds behind it. You have a second arrow nocked almost instantly, but by then the ibex has already disappeared into the wilderness, leaving behind only the noise of its passage.

The javelin sinks into a tree as the ibex bounds behind it. You try to ready a second, but by then the ibex has already disappeared into the wilderness, leaving behind only the noise of its passage.

Grab one.

Shoot one with an arrow.

Spear one.

Attack with Fire magic.

With little hesitation you pounce among the dun-feathered birds like a predator, sending them scrambling...

You move carefully and quietly, keeping low, and draw back an arrow on the string. Your muscles tense as you line up the shot...

Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey.

Your limbs lashing out like lightning, you manage to wrap your arms around one of the flightless, tackling it to the ground. For a moment it seems naught but a beak and claws, all digging at your skin, trying to fight its way free, but your fingers clasp around the bird's neck. With a resounding snap, you end its struggle.

You stand and brush yourself off, sure that your catch will provide a meal or two.

Your limbs lashing out like lightning, you throw yourself at a flightless... and catch only dirt. The screeching birds scatter from you, disappearing into the undergrowth as you get back to your feet.

Your missile strikes true, burying itself almost to the fletching in the bird. The rest of the flock scatters as you retrieve your kill. Looking down at the flightless as its breathing ceases, you see that it's even larger than you initially thought.

Your missile sinks into the soil at the bird's feet, missing it by a hair's breadth. With a cacophonous screeching, the flightless scatter. Your second arrow fares no better, and soon the birds have vanished into the underbrush.

Shoot one with an arrow.

Catch one with a lure.

The slow moving fish make for easy targets, and you manage to shoot two before the others scramble into deeper waters. Grabbing the arrow shafts, you pull the fish from the water and bring them back to the shore.

Despite their lethargy, you manage to miss two rushfish with your shots, and the beasts swim away into the darker depths.

The slow moving fish make for easy targets, and you manage to spear two before the others scramble into deeper waters. Lifting your spear, you pull the fish from the water and bring them back to the shore.

Despite their lethargy, you manage to miss every rushfish with your jabs, and the beasts swim away into the darker depths.

While no fisherman, you know a thing or two about rushfish feeding habits from your studies of the natural world. You thread and tie off a needle before bending it into a rough hook, then push it through the fatty thorax of a carob beetle. You wait by the shore, spying out a likely target, then lower the carob beetle into the water.

Surely enough, the fish swallows the insect whole. With a sharp yank, you set the hook, and then pull the heavy catch from the water.

You stare at the water for a time, watching the fish move. Perhaps if you had some manner of trap for them... You rig a noose of sorts, a loop of rope and a slipknot. You lay it in the path of the fish, waiting for one to swim through it. When one does, you pull quickly to tighten the rope.

The fish easily flops free of your trap.

This clumsy process plays out a few more times before you discard both your plans and your hope for a dinner of rushfish.

Beastmen rarely hunt rushfish - they provide little meat relative to the effort required - but when there's ample bait, the agile fish become a patient hunter's bounty. You learned when you were still young how to catch some mudbugs, thread line through them, and set them as lures. You wait patiently, allowing the crustaceans to burrow into soil near the shore. You easily draw two of the fleshy animals from the water. 100 Shoot it with an arrow. 101 Chase it. 102 Attack with Fire magic. 103</ID> Almost before you begin to move the rabbit's hind legs extend, launching it into the underbrush. You chase after it, but it dives into a hole before you get near it. You thrust your arm after it, hoping to grasp the critter, but your fingers close only on air. 104</ID> Moving slowly so as not to disturb the rabbit, you nock an arrow, take aim, and loose. The rabbit hits the ground moments later, the arrow protruding from both sides of its body. 105</ID> You nock an arrow, but your movement disturbs the anxious animal. It bolts into the underbrush and is gone in moments. 106</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. 107</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. 108</ID> Track the snake. 109</ID> Track the boar. 110</ID> Collect the worm. 111</ID> As you sweep up the cylindrical beast in your arms, it tries in vain to wriggle back into the dirt. Using a knife, you slice deeply into it, spilling its lukewarm ichor across your arms. You continue to cut it apart, and its constituent parts continue to writhe under your loving ministrations long after any reasonable creature should have expired.

At least there's a fair amount of mostly-edible meat. 112</ID> Following the shreds of discarded snake scale requires a sharp eye and patience, but soon enough you find the massive, coiled form of a moth serpent, a large, venomous snake named for the repeated moth-shaped pattern running it down its back. The snake raises its head and flicks a forked tongue in your direction... 113</ID> Moving quietly through the wilds, you follow the torn bark, muddy leaves, and hoof prints that mark the passage of the boars. Soon you come across a small pack of the animals as they rut in the soil for mushrooms. You're downwind of them, and they don't seem to have noticed you... 114</ID> While the boars leave a messy swath through the soil, the tracks end a meandering stream. Try as you might, you are unable to resume the hunt. After an hour with no further sign of the animals, you return to your travels. 115</ID> Your training was always more focused on hunting bipedal humans; tracking slithering creatures by way of discarded skin isn't your specialty. After a few fruitless hours you abandon your hunt and return to the trail. 116</ID> Shoot one with an arrow. 117</ID> Spear one. 118</ID> Attack with Lightning magic. <ID>119</ID> Shoot it with an arrow. <ID>120</ID> Throw a javelin at it. <ID>121</ID> Attack with Fire magic. <ID>122</ID> Moving with collected calm, you raise your bow, draw the string, and sink an arrow directly through the snake's snout. It collapses, the arrowhead jutting from the back of its head. <ID>123</ID> You pull back and let an arrow fly... and miss the snake's head with half a foot to spare. <ID>124</ID> You hurl a javelin at the snake, burying it deep in the reptile's skull. It slumps over, the head of your weapon protruding from the beast's back. <ID>125</ID> Your throw goes wide, missing the snake's head entirely. <ID>126</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. <ID>128</ID> You let fly an arrow that strikes true, burying itself to the feathers in a boar's eye socket. The beast falls immediately, its upraised legs twitching as if trying to run on air. <ID>129</ID> Your let fly an arrow, but it skips off of your target's tusk. The boar turns on you and charges you with a screech as its companions scatter into the undergrowth. You manage to get far enough up a tree to avoid the boar's tusks, and it quickly follows its fellows into the brush. <ID>130</ID> The boars respond immediately and poorly to your sudden presence, kicking at you with hooves and raking at you with their tusks. You manage to drive your spear deep into the side of one of them, and it goes down with a plaintive squeal. <ID>131</ID> The boars respond immediately and poorly to your sudden presence, kicking at you with hooves and raking at you with their tusks. You drive your spear at the beasts, but miss once and glance twice off of their thick hide. By the time the last of the boars flees into the undergrowth, you are sweating and breathing heavily. <ID>132</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. <ID>134</ID> Lure more worms with Gravelight. <ID>135</ID> "I see you know why they're called 'Graveworms,'" Eb says. "Here, let me help." She raises her hands towards the sky, her fingers twisting, shaping sigils, calling down the light of the Grave, brightening it, spilling it liberally across the soil. The dirt churns, and more of the long, pale creatures wriggle up from the muck, turning sucking mouths towards the sky.

Eb gestures with an open palm. "Take your pick, Fatebinder." <ID>136</ID> You force your fingers through the complex, arcane gestures required of Gravelight magic, and the moon seems to brighten, spilling cool gray light across the earth. The soil churns, and several more worms writhe from beneath your feet. Terratus Grave hangs shining above you as you collect and slaughter the worms. <ID>137</ID> You move to the animal and draw a knife, ready to begin the long work of skinning and dressing it. <ID>138</ID> You move to the animal and draw a knife, ready to begin the long work of skinning and dressing it. <ID>139</ID> It's a good catch, a bird large enough to provide a meal or two. <ID>140</ID> You heart thuds rapidly beneath your sternum, and you set yourself to the task of cleaning your prey. <ID>141</ID> It's a good catch, a bird large enough to provide a meal or two. <ID>142</ID> The rushfish are fat and heavy - their weight reassures you that they'll provide a meal, maybe two. <ID>143</ID> The rushfish are fat and heavy - their weight reassures you that they'll provide a meal, maybe two. <ID>144</ID> The rushfish are fat and heavy - their weight reassures you that they'll provide a meal, maybe two. <ID>145</ID> The rushfish are fat and heavy - their weight reassures you that they'll provide a meal, maybe two. <ID>146</ID> You move to the animal and draw a knife, ready to begin the long work of skinning and dressing it. <ID>147</ID> The blast sends the rabbit sprawling, and it lay where it lands, twitching. <ID>148</ID> Either your motions or your sounds spook your prey, however, as it leaps from its position an instant before the spell strikes it. After the dust clears, you find no trace of it. <ID>149</ID> Your spell crashes into the flock, scattering birds in every direction. As you make your way to the target of your spell, you find it lifeless and still. <ID>150</ID> You move to the animal and draw a knife, ready to begin the long work of skinning and dressing it. <ID>151</ID> It lashes out at you, impossibly fast, and slithers away even as you blink at the line of four puncture marks on your arm. Your vision begins to blur even as you stumble back towards the road... <ID>152</ID> Recognizing that dragging two hundred pounds of snake will be prohibitively tiring, you pull out a knife and remove what meat you can carry, taking about half the snake meat with you. <ID>153</ID> Recognizing that dragging two hundred pounds of snake will be prohibitively tiring, you pull out a knife and remove what meat you can carry, taking about half the snake meat with you. <ID>154</ID> It lashes out at you, impossibly fast, and slithers away even as you blink at the line of four puncture marks on your arm. Your vision begins to blur even as you stumble back towards the road... <ID>155</ID> The serpent hisses and spasms as the spell makes short work of the venomous creature. Finally it falls over in a limp pile. <ID>156</ID> Recognizing that dragging two hundred pounds of snake will be prohibitively tiring, you pull out a knife and remove what meat you can carry, taking about half the snake meat with you. <ID>157</ID> The other boars bound into the underbrush, leaving you alone with your catch, an animal large enough to provide plenty of meat and fur. <ID>158</ID> The other boars bound into the underbrush, leaving you alone with your catch, an animal large enough to provide plenty of meat and fur. <ID>159</ID> The blast catches one of the animals, sending it sprawling even as the others scatter into the brush. <ID>160</ID> The other boars bound into the underbrush, leaving you alone with your catch, an animal large enough to provide plenty of meat and fur. <ID>161</ID> You wait a time, and just as you are on the verge of moving on without her, Kills-in-Shadow reappears, grinning under the weight of the ibex draped from her shoulders. Blood seeps from an ugly red hole between her ribs; when she sees you looking at it, she chuffs. "Is small scratch, shallow, like bee sting. Is nothing for such prize." <ID>162</ID> After several minutes, a chorus of panicked squawking rises from the scattering flightless. Kills-in-Shadow comes loping back, the wrung neck of a bird in each hand.

"One for prima," she says, dropping the flightless at your feet. "One for hunter." She takes her grisly prize and chews off a bloody hunk of flesh. <ID>163</ID> You hear thrashing brush and low snarls for several minutes before she returns, the rabbit hanging from her clawed hand. "Long ears make quick for dirt homes," she complains, tossing the rabbit at your feet. She lowers herself to her haunches and begins picking herself clean, mumbling about the cowardice of prey. <ID>164</ID> When she returns, it's with a massive snake draped over her shoulders, its head almost as large as one of her great paws. She heaves it to the ground in a messy coil.

"Long scale had strength of twelve men," she says through grinning yellow teeth, "but only one jaw. Kills-in-Shadows has jaw and four claws. Human who smells of Fatebinder must find bigger challenge for Kills-in-Shadow." <ID>165</ID> Hours later she returns cradling a limp sow in the crook of one long arm. She lays it out, licking her lips. "Man boar like coward fled," she reports. "Woman boar met death proudly." She chuffs, then strikes a closed fist against her chest. "Am not surprised. Will have mine raw. Will swallow her blood. Will add her strength to own." <ID>166</ID> Continue... <ID>167</ID> Continue... <ID>168</ID> Continue... <ID>169</ID> Continue... <ID>170</ID> Continue... <ID>171</ID> Continue... <ID>172</ID> Continue... <ID>173</ID> Continue... <ID>174</ID> Continue... <ID>175</ID> Continue... <ID>176</ID> Continue... <ID>177</ID> Continue... <ID>178</ID> Continue... <ID>179</ID> Continue... <ID>180</ID> Continue... <ID>181</ID> Continue... <ID>182</ID> Continue... <ID>183</ID> Continue... <ID>184</ID> Continue... <ID>185</ID> Continue... <ID>186</ID> Continue... <ID>187</ID> Continue... <ID>188</ID> Continue... <ID>189</ID> Continue... <ID>190</ID> Continue... <ID>191</ID> Continue... <ID>192</ID> Continue... <ID>193</ID> Continue... <ID>194</ID> Continue... <ID>195</ID> Continue... <ID>196</ID> Continue... <ID>197</ID> Continue... <ID>198</ID> Continue... <ID>199</ID> Continue... <ID>201</ID> Attack with Lightning magic. <ID>202</ID> Attack with Frost magic. <ID>203</ID> Attack with Frost magic. <ID>204</ID> Attack with Force magic. <ID>205</ID> Attack with Lightning magic. <ID>206</ID> Attack with Stone magic. <ID>207</ID> Attack with Stone magic. <ID>208</ID> Attack with Force magic. <ID>209</ID> Attack with Lightning magic. <ID>210</ID> Attack with Frost magic. <ID>211</ID> Spear one. <ID>212</ID> The slow moving fish make for easy targets, and you manage to spear two before the others scramble into deeper waters. Lifting your spear, you pull the fish from the water and bring them back to the shore. <ID>213</ID> Your fingers twist and bend, shaping a growing sigil between them as arcane radiance limns your form. Time seems to dilate as the ibex bounds past trees and among rocks. You release the torrential power flowing through you, reaching towards the animal to direct the force of the spell at your target... <ID>214</ID> Your fingers twist and bend, shaping a growing sigil between them as arcane radiance limns your form. Time seems to dilate as the ibex bounds past trees and among rocks. You release the torrential power flowing through you, reaching towards the animal to direct the force of the spell at your target... <ID>215</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. <ID>216</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. <ID>217</ID> Continue... <ID>218</ID> Continue... <ID>219</ID> The spell strikes a tree, reducing it to a cloud of splinters. The ibex moved more quickly than your magic, and you hear it springing to safety through the wilderness. <ID>220</ID> The spell strikes a tree, reducing it to a cloud of splinters. The ibex moved more quickly than your magic, and you hear it springing to safety through the wilderness. <ID>221</ID> Continue... <ID>222</ID> Continue... <ID>223</ID> Your spell crashes into the flock, scattering birds in every direction. As you make your way to the target of your spell, you find it lifeless and still. <ID>224</ID> Your spell crashes into the flock, scattering birds in every direction. As you make your way to the target of your spell, you find it lifeless and still. <ID>225</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. <ID>226</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. <ID>227</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. <ID>228</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. <ID>229</ID> Continue... <ID>230</ID> Continue... <ID>231</ID> Continue... <ID>232</ID> Continue... <ID>233</ID> The blast sends the rabbit sprawling, and it lay where it lands, twitching. <ID>234</ID> Either your motions or your sounds spook your prey, however, as it leaps from its position an instant before the spell strikes it. After the dust clears, you find no trace of it. <ID>235</ID> The blast sends the rabbit sprawling, and it lay where it lands, twitching. <ID>236</ID> Either your motions or your sounds spook your prey, however, as it leaps from its position an instant before the spell strikes it. After the dust clears, you find no trace of it. <ID>237</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. <ID>238</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. <ID>239</ID> Continue... <ID>240</ID> Continue... <ID>241</ID> The serpent hisses and spasms as the spell makes short work of the venomous creature. Finally it falls over in a limp pile. <ID>242</ID> The serpent hisses and spasms as the spell makes short work of the venomous creature. Finally it falls over in a limp pile. <ID>243</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. <ID>244</ID> Staying low, you let muscle memory guide your hands and fingers in forming the sigils of the Archons. Arcane power gathers around you, and with a final gesture, you channel it towards your prey. <ID>245</ID> The blast catches one of the animals, sending it sprawling even as the others scatter into the brush. <ID>246</ID> The blast catches one of the animals, sending it sprawling even as the others scatter into the brush. <ID>247</ID> Continue... <ID>248</ID> Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_forgottenclutch

Transcript
At the end of the road, a small child crouches next to an abandoned wagon, rummaging through its contents. From afar she resembles a bedraggled urchin, smirking face lined with dirt, her tunic torn and thoroughly stained. She spots your approach and lets out a small yelp, sprinting off into a copse of trees and vanishing from view.

Follow the girl.

Ignore the child and move on.

You decide to press on, unconcerned with the child's whereabouts. As you pass by the wagon, you see that it has been thoroughly-stripped of its contents - a few heads of rotting cabbage and some potatoes picked apart by field mice are all that remain. The child will need much more than that to last the season.

You follow the child as she weaves between the trees until the forest gives way to the open fields of a small farmstead, empty from the last harvest. The girl leads you across the grounds, past two empty houses and a row of clay beehives, eventually racing into an open barn. As you enter after her, you see a clutch of children huddled in the rear, trembling as you approach. There are six in all, gaunt faces and tired eyes shared amongst them all. One boy drops a small knife as you approach, letting it vanish within the folds of straw at his feet.

The children swear they are alone, claiming to be orphans from a massacred village. They fled during the fighting and retreated to this farmstead. Its owners, they claim, slain by Kyros forces. The barn is full of harvested rye and a few jars of stored honey, no doubt the reasons why these children are still alive.

Ask about the empty cart on the road.

Leave the children food and rings.

Order the children into service with the Chorus.

Send them to work for the Disfavored.

Send them to train as spies for Tunon's Court.

Burn down the farmstead.

Leave the children behind.

Some of the children exchange concerned glances before the little girl you trailed speaks up. Her voice wavers and she blurts out a stammering explanation - the cart was likely used by a traveling merchant and abandoned once soldiers clashed in the nearby area. Her eyes flick to the ground for a brief moment, long enough for you to follow its gaze to a leather boot barely visible between tied bundles of standing straw. You push past them and kick aside the bundles, revealing the corpse of a middle-aged man with multiple puncture wounds in his neck and back.

The children gasp at the revelation, and some begin to cry. The young girl pleads innocence, claiming that the man discovered the farm and attacked her, pinning her in the straw before her friends returned and stabbed him to death. She begs you to believe her.

The stored supplies will last the children another season, but not much beyond that. You open your pack and hand the children a few pieces of cured meat and, more importantly, some rings, advising them to find a nearby settlement and seek out care. The group is grateful, but cautious, not budging from their protective cluster until you step out of the barn.

The farmstead isn't very visible from the main road, but trails leading to it, marked by worn brush and flattened grasses, will be spotted by other travelers. The orphans cannot hide for long.

In all likelihood, these children will die without a guiding hand. You pen a letter with instructions for any Chorus patrol or garrison to accept them as camp workers, for eventual conscription when they come of age. The life of a child in the Chorus isn't easy, but Nerat's threadbare laws demand that children be honored and cherished - making life in the Chorus marginally safer than life in the wilderness.

There is no gratitude in their eyes as you hand them the rolled parchment and instruct them to seek the Chorus. If they have any sense, they'll take your advice before someone worse happens upon this farmstead.

These children have been displaced, but may find purpose in service of the Disfavored. You pen a missive to the Disfavored and order the children to wait for the next Disfavored patrol, at which point, the children will be put to strenuous labor that no child is ready to endure, but they will be fed.

The young survivors are apprehensive - some nod hopefully, while others remain silent, unsure how to react. It's unclear whether or not they'll follow your directives, but doing so would be to their benefit... they face far graver threats here, alone.

Though mere children, the scamps are tenacious and clever - requirements for survival out here, alone - and may be of use in Tunon's Court. Left to their own devices, they will almost certainly die in time. You pen a declaration: the children are to be evaluated by the Court's Fatebinders for possible service, and should they be found lacking, assigned to local tradesmen as best suits the needs of the city.

The journey won't be easy, you caution, but it is necessary if they want to survive past the next season. The young girl takes the parchment and thanks you, though the rest of the children look unsure of the matter. You collect some grain and honey for yourself and exit the barn, leaving them to contemplate their fate.

The orphans' story may or may not be true, but what is certain is that they killed a man, took his goods, and now squat in his farmstead - such crimes cannot be ignored. With weapons drawn, you command the children to flee the farmstead on pain of death. You retrieve flint and jasper from a pouch and, after a few precise strikes, set the barn straw alight. The building is soon engulfed in flame, its contents fuel for the warning you've created.

You move from one field to the next, until the entire area has been engulfed in flame. The children holler in the distance, cries of confusion and fear echoing across the farmstead. By the time you have reached the main road, they have fallen silent.

The orphans are of little concern to you, not something worth a lengthy distraction. While they cower in the center of the barn, you gather some grain and honey for the journey ahead and move towards the exit, telling the children that their situation isn't one you have the time to address. You can feel their confused eyes upon you as you leave the building. A young boy runs outside and shouts after you, wanting to know what will become of them. You continue on past the empty fields, ignoring his repeated calls.

There is no assurance you can give him. The grain will feed them for the remainder of the season, but that is the least of the children's worries - the farmstead will be discovered by other, hungrier, and less merciful travelers.

They watch wordlessly as you take a small amount of grain and honey for your personal use, still huddled together when you leave the barn.

They watch wordlessly as you take a small amount of grain and honey for your personal use, still huddled together when you leave the barn.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_librarylooter

Transcript
A full-figured woman in a grime smudged smock beckons to you as your paths cross near the ruins of a nameless town in the crack stones of old Azure. She waves excitedly, almost bouncing from foot to foot. "You," she cries out, "look like a traveler of MEANS!" Her voice echoes down the abyssal crevasse between you.

Approach her.

Avoid her.

You pass without much interaction, brushing aside her attempts to converse. As you walk away, she continues in the opposite direction, gaze downcast.

Olive eyes peer at you above a button nose and dimpled cheeks as she excitedly informs you of the rare and potent secret texts she has on offer... for a price.

Peruse her wares.

Interrogate her.

Convict her.

Leave her.

She claps her hands together excitedly and begins to rattle off the sundry scrolls she's collected.

You ask her how she came by such secrets, and she admits that she

To conversation.

You immediately inform her that she's in violation of the Overlord's provisions against the possession of forbidden knowledge. She begins to stammer an excuse, but you see her fingers forming practiced sigils.

Execute her.

Spare her.

You lash out at her before she has an opportunity to finish her spell. The first blow ruins her hands, and she screams, holding the mangled appendages to her chest. Your second strike ends her life.

You rifle through her robes, discovering a small bundle of parchment. It's possible the magician had more cached away nearby, but if there's any truth to that supposition, it died with her.

You assure her that she's in no danger from you, despite your pronouncement, and she calms, hands still free to form spells if the need arises.

Leave her.

She thanks you for your clemency and offers a few dusty and weathered scrolls for your mercy. </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_oldglory

Transcript
An uneventful day on the road is interrupted by a loud cry. An old man, dirt-encrusted and wild-eyed, dressed in little more than tattered rags, emerges from the brush, charging feebly towards you with a sword held high. "For Apex!" His sandals catch a tree root, sending him tumbling into the dirt. His brittle blade strikes the ground first, snapping in two. He clutches his ribs and whispers a low groan, laying on the ground for an uncomfortably long time. His moans give way to rhythmic, heavy breathing, and just as you step forward to determine if the old man has fallen asleep, he picks himself up, wagging the useless blade at you. "The day is ours, dogs of Kyros!"

The man continues to ramble, and it soon becomes clear that he believes himself late for the first battle of Apex. He is correct, in a sense - the battle was waged over two years ago. Blissfully unaware of his kinsmen's failure, he demands your surrender before generously offering to settle for a mere ransom.

Kill the man.

Convince him that you're not an enemy, and give him some rings.

Disarm him and spare his life.

Convince him to wage war against Graven Ashe.

Convince him to wage war against Nerat.

Convince him that the true battle is with Tunon.

He continues to rattle off a series of demands and is taken by surprise when you strike him in the face, sending him to the ground once again. As he paws about the dirt in confusion, you pick up the remaining half of his sword and run the jagged blade across his throat. Blood immediately gushes out of his neck in violent spurts, coating the dusty road with a crimson splatter. The old man paws at his throat and hisses, desperate to breath, but cannot sustain the effort for long. In a few moments, he is still.

Swallowing your pride, you lower your weapons and explain that you're not a threat. He watches you through narrowed eyes, expecting a ruse, and doesn't lower his blade until you fabricate the story that you're part of a crew of Tiersmen marching to meet Queen Vendrien Alanta's mustering call. He surveys your clothing for a few moments and, not recognizing the emblems of Tunon's Court, finally smiles in relief. You convince him that the Queen's support is significant, and suggest that he return home and leave the fighting to the younger reinforcements already en route. He hesitates, but nods in agreement.

As he continues to shout, you calmly reach out and grab the cross-guard of his sword, sliding the weapon out of his loose grip without the old man even noticing. He stops yelling for a moment to catch his breath, only then noticing he's been disarmed. He clutches at his rags, hands darting from one pocket to another, as if the weapon had been mistakenly stowed in one of them. His right hand clutches at something solid, and with a defiant laugh, he brandishes a half-eaten drumstick.

Tired of this distraction, you brush past the man and continue down the path. He swings wildly with the drumstick as you pass, incensed by your defiance. It bounces off your shoulder, strips of meat flying from it, and lands unceremoniously in the mud. You ignore his cries and continue on, content to let the old man tire himself out. Eventually, the shouts cease. In its place, you hear the sounds of a confused man ravenously devouring his last morsels of chicken.

You wait for the old soldier to finish his lengthy tirade before speaking. As he calms, you assure him that your interests and Apex's are one and the same, insisting the true aggressor is a shared enemy: the rogue Archon.

The name 'Graven Ashe' fills the old man with seething rage, and it's all too easy to persuade him to take the fight directly to the Archon's stronghold. You promise him the backing of a thousand Tiersmen and point him towards Iron Hearth, helpfully drawing him a map. He sets off on the road, broken blade in hand, to the Archon's mountain fortress, where hundreds of Graven Ashe's elite await him.

You wait for the old soldier to finish his lengthy tirade before speaking. As he calms, you assure him that your interests and Apex's are one and the same, insisting the true aggressor is a shared enemy: the rogue Archon.

At the mention of 'the Voices of Nerat' the old man's eyes fill with the promise of glory, and it's all too easy to persuade him to take the fight directly to the Archon's stronghold. You promise him the backing of a thousand Tiersmen and point him towards Cacophony, helpfully drawing him a crude map. He sets off on the road, broken blade in hand, to the Archon's dusty fortress, where hundreds of battle-hardened Chorus soldiers await him.

You wait for the old soldier to finish his lengthy tirade before speaking. As he calms, you assure him that your interests and Apex's are one and the same, insisting the true aggressor is a shared enemy: the rogue Archon.

You speak at length of the Kyros' puppet 'Tunon' and the man's eyes fill with rage. It's all too easy to persuade him to take the fight straight to the Bastard City. You promise him the back of a thousand Tiersman and sets off down the road, broken blade in hand, to a Court filled with armed Fatebinders.

You press some rings into his hands and give him directions to the nearest inn, where he may find hot food, drink, and, most importantly, a warm bath.

You find a pouch on his body containing some rings and some old family trinkets. They are the last vestiges of his name, and may fetch a modest price.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_playeredictfire

Transcript
The air shimmers under the pressure of the blistering heat. Your clothing clings to you, sweat dripping from your chin.

Fissures rupture the ground, flames leaping upward in wet bursts to lick at the twisted bronze and iron spines that shatter the landscape.

The warmth cloaks itself in moisture from Haven's many waterways, transforming into a dense humidity that clings to your skin.

The Contested Lands, long blackened by the Overlord's Edict of Fire, find no respite under yours. Trees, granted a brief reprieve from the flames, burn again, filling the sky with thick clouds of acrid smoke.

Steam bursts from the ground in high-whining streams, forced up through the long pillars of stone by the pressure of its own expansion, scalding any unfortunate enough to be near a rupture when it occurs.

The bowl of Vendrien's Well seems to trap the heat, mixing it with the water from the wide rivers into a humidity as oppressive as a tyrant's reign.

On the side of the road ahead you see a pair of Beastmen haulers lounging beside an unmoving cart. They have spread themselves on the ground, backs flat against it, arms spread to either side, mouths open and panting.

Investigate further.

Avoid them.

As you approach the cart, you make out a small pile of refuse. On moving nearer, you realize that it consists of two or three corpses, possibly caravan merchants or guards. Even from a distance you can tell that the bodies have been torn apart, the bones cracked and sometimes cleaned of flesh.

You give the pair a wide berth and they make no move to interdict you. You continue towards your destination.

Attack the Beastmen.

Speak to the Beastmen.

Continue on.

The Beastmen barely stir as you fall upon them, opening their throats to water the parched soil. You claim the best of the goods from the cart and continue on your travels.

One of the Beastmen raises its head... barely... when you address it. It makes no move to stand, instead issuing a low moan and letting its head fall back to the ground.

Ask them what happened.

Drive them away.

Leave.

You turn your back on the Beasts and continue down the road.

You shout invectives at the Beasts until they struggle to their feet and lope away, leaving the cart behind. You rummage through it and collect the best of the goods, then continue along the road.

In grunts and groans the Beasts complain about the heat, about how hard they'd been driven by the merchants, and about the abuse hurled at them by the deceased caravan guards.

Execute them.

Continue...

Continue...

The air shimmers under the pressure of the blistering heat. Your clothing clings to you, sweat dripping from your chin.

Continue...

The air shimmers under the pressure of the blistering heat. Your clothing clings to you, sweat dripping from your chin.

Continue...

The air shimmers under the pressure of the blistering heat. Your clothing clings to you, sweat dripping from your chin.

Continue...

The air shimmers under the pressure of the blistering heat. Your clothing clings to you, sweat dripping from your chin.

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_playeredictmalediction

Transcript
The presence of the curse raises bumps across your skin the moment your strides take you into the area of its influence. The Edict of Malediction... a baleful presence that clings to you, testing your flesh with almost imperceptible prods as if trying to find a way in. It seems to recognize something kindred in you, sensing you as its progenitor. Perhaps only your connection to it allows you to perceive it at all.

The long-suffering Blade Grave, previously yoked by the Overlord's Edict of Storms, now labors under your Edict of Malediction. The landscape seems stark, still, and cold, broken by twisting towers of metal bowing earthwards under their own weight. Tattered banners hang listless, their threads long ago robbed of their heraldry.

Haven had been spared the worst of the Overlord's Edicts, mercifully unscathed by the horrors issued by Tunon's Fatebinders upon Azure and Stalwart. You ended that. Now carts line the road, their wheels or axles broken, and half the farmhouses you pass have collapsed under their own weight. The fields lie fallow, and those crops already grown have rotted on their stalks.

As if the Contested Lands required a curse. Already the Overlord's Edict of Fire had reduced much of the mountainous area to ash and cinders, leveling not only the Vellum Citadel, but the few settlements and outposts that had sprung up along the roads frequented by the oft-itinerant Sages.

You wonder briefly whether perhaps your Edict influenced the region even before you cast it. If somehow it weighted the strands of fate, twisting the Sages to their doomed refusal of Kyros' authority. Could such a thing be possible?

The air carries the sound of distant rumbling to you as yet another of the Stone Sea's great earthen towers crumbles into the depths of Terratus, throwing a plume of debris hundreds of feet into the air. You haven't seen anyone in your journey, risking the sea having become too perilous for even hardened scavengers and Beastmen. Under the Overlord's Edict of Stone, a traveler needed only worry about the shifting land as it bucked with Cairn's death throes. Under your Edict of Malediction, however, nothing could be relied on. The land remained treacherous, but now ropes frayed and snapped, pitons slipped free of their anchorages, and food consistently spoiled before it could be eaten.

Flocks of ravens fill the sky above Vendrien's Well, one group slowly circling the Mountain Spire. Your Edict of Malediction has consigned the people to a slow death by degrees as bridges collapse, fevers worsen, and every unattended ember leads to a conflagration. Each morning brings new petitioners to the citadel, peasants and former nobles alike begging you to release the realm from your degenerative curse.

Just off the road you can make out a pile of tumbled boulders silhouetted against the horizon. Light glints from some small object at its apex.

Investigate further.

Continue on.

As you approach the heaped rocks, you realize that they bear curious shapes. One freestanding stone looks very much like a boot. Another, a round, flattish boulder with four lumps along its edge, seems veined like the palm of a hand. The central pile, however, bears no semblance to anything recognizable.

You crane your neck to get a better view of the gleam that caught your attention before, but you see nothing from this vantage. The stones don't look terribly difficult to climb, but they do seem precariously stacked...

You ignore the rock pile and continue your journey.

Climb the stones.

Push the pile over.

Use stone magic.

Leave.

You step onto the nearest boulder and grasp tightly the rock's ridges. You pull yourself up the side, your muscles aching, your fingers burning from the biting edges. By the time you reach the top, the skin of your fingers bleed from numerous abrasions.

You're not sure what you expected to find at the top of the pile, but it wasn't an Earthshaker's purple-hooded head protruding from a fissure in the rock. A staff projects from a smaller fissure just to the left of the head, its end marked by a violet stone that glimmers with the cool light of active magic. A line connects the two objects, as if marking a seam in the rock.

You press against the rocks, but they do not move at all. It feels as if more than merely their weight resists you.

Weaving an incantation, you draw the sigil of Cairn, fallen Archon of Stone, and hurl a pulse of magical energy at the pile...

The stones tremble beneath your powerful magic, and you slowly pull the tower apart, rolling each of the boulders to the side.

...but nothing happens. The apparently unstable pile does not so much as shift. It seems some stronger magic holds it in place.

Among the rocks you find the body of a thin man. Lank gray hair hangs over his features, and he wears the fine robes of an elder Earthshaker. Held tightly in his hand is a staff, the purple gem at its head pulsing with faint magical power. You're easily able to pry it from his grasp. You find no clue, however, as to why he was here or what he was doing. Whatever secret led him to being entombed in stone died with him.

Take the staff.

Take the head.

Leave.

You make your way back down the rock pile and leave it behind you.

Break the staff.

Remove the head.

The staff looks like it should slide easily free of the stone it is embedded in, yet it doesn't budge.

You snap the Earthshaker's staff, and you feel a shudder in the stone beneath your feet, before you can react, your stomach lurches as the pile tumbles over. You leap free of the crashing boulders...

Examine the head.

You don't know how long the head has been here, but it shows no obvious signs of putrefaction. You grab it by its stringy white hair and slide a knife under the chin, sawing at the head. The work becomes slick as your hand and blade are quickly coated in blood. You saw through muscle and bone, but manage to get the head free of the stone. What's left is a mangled stump of bloody neck rising from the rock.

The head has a little give... about as much as you'd expect of a head connected by a neck to a body. You might be able to force it free, but the thought is not a pleasant one.

It still doesn't move.

It's not of anyone you recognize. Greasy gray hair falls in tangles around the sunken features. The mouth hangs slightly agape, smeared with blood, and the eyes stare vacantly ahead.

...and land in a smooth roll before coming up to your feet.

...and land hard and unevenly on your right foot, sending stabbing pain up the length of your leg.

Among the rubble you find the corpse of the Earthshaker, still in his fine robes. He has a few items on his person, including some potions, and you scrounge them. You find no indication of what he was doing here or how he became trapped in the stone.

Among the rubble you find the corpse of the Earthshaker, still in his fine robes. He has a few items on his person, including some potions, and you scrounge them. You find no indication of what he was doing here or how he became trapped in the stone.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

The presence of the curse raises bumps across your skin the moment your strides take you into the area of its influence. The Edict of Malediction... a baleful presence that clings to you, testing your flesh with almost imperceptible prods as if trying to find a way in. It seems to recognize something kindred in you, sensing you as its progenitor. Perhaps only your connection to it allows you to perceive it at all.

Continue...

The presence of the curse raises bumps across your skin the moment your strides take you into the area of its influence. The Edict of Malediction... a baleful presence that clings to you, testing your flesh with almost imperceptible prods as if trying to find a way in. It seems to recognize something kindred in you, sensing you as its progenitor. Perhaps only your connection to it allows you to perceive it at all.

Continue...

The presence of the curse raises bumps across your skin the moment your strides take you into the area of its influence. The Edict of Malediction... a baleful presence that clings to you, testing your flesh with almost imperceptible prods as if trying to find a way in. It seems to recognize something kindred in you, sensing you as its progenitor. Perhaps only your connection to it allows you to perceive it at all.

Continue...

The presence of the curse raises bumps across your skin the moment your strides take you into the area of its influence. The Edict of Malediction... a baleful presence that clings to you, testing your flesh with almost imperceptible prods as if trying to find a way in. It seems to recognize something kindred in you, sensing you as its progenitor. Perhaps only your connection to it allows you to perceive it at all.

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_playeredictnightfall

Transcript
The veil of darkness over the region manifested as a hazy smudge on the horizon long before you reached it, not unlike a distant heavy rain of a gray so deep it verged on black. As you closed that distance, the Edict of Nightfall seemed more like a wall of midnight set into the Tiers by your voice.

Passing into the darkness is like stepping directly into the dead of night. No light seeps in from the road behind you. The sun, visible above as a dull, pale circle in the sky, gives no heat, and even the ever-still moon Terratus Grave provides no comforting pale illumination. The stars are but flat, white spots on the dark dome of the sky, as utterly lifeless as a fresco.

You have never before known the Blade Grave to be an area of such utter stillness. Whereas the winds had once been wild and constant, now nothing seems to move, and all energy is sapped from the air as surely as the light. In the darkness you can only just make out jutting spines of iron and bronze, making the whole of the region a treacherous journey through a nightmare of rusting, jagged blades.

The verdant hills and fields of Haven seem dull and flat beneath the oppressing nocturnal weight, and even the night bugs seem unwilling to brave it. Either the rivers have slowed to a near halt, or the darkness swallows the sound of their motion.

Long choked by the smoke from the ever-aflame ruins of the Vellum Citadel, the Contested Lands are no stranger to darkness, yet this is entirely other. The fires of the Burning Library and Kyros' Edict had previously provided a baleful orange glow. Now even your torches seem muted, their warmth and light swallowed by the mystical night called by your tongue.

Whereas once the lands of the Stone Sea seemed ever-shifting, a stark stillness has fallen across the region. Even the pale violet illumination of the Azurelith crystals that jut from the soil seems muted to a dim purple.

The once-constant landmarks of Vendrien's Well hide in impenetrable shadow, the mountainous border and the height of your Spire stronghold lost to the gloom. No insects sing or night birds cry.

Figures step out onto the road ahead of you, little more than silhouettes against a deeper dark. They wear cloth masks over their mouth and hair, but you doubt you could have identified their features anyway. No light glints from their blades, but you can feel the weapons' presence.

"Your money or your life, traveler!" growls a low voice.

"Never heard that one before," Verse states dryly from somewhere to your right.

Attack them.

Threaten them.

Freeze them.

Have Kills-in-Shadow kill them in shadow.

Vanish into the shadows.

These bandits have enjoyed the dark shroud of your Edict, but they are visitors to this magical darkness - and the shadows greedily surround you as you take a half step backwards. Their startled curses turn into muffled thumps as they collide in shared eagerness to catch you.

With the sounds of their failed ambush to trailing off into the darkness, you continue your journey.

They never stood a chance.

Within moments, you have opened the brigands, leaving sputtering, screaming men and women curled or shuddering in shallow pools of their own blood. The darkness hampered their actions far more than yours: this is your night, and you are a part of it.

You leave the remains on the road and continue towards your destination.

They manage only whimpered apologies as they flee the road, their muffled footsteps quickly absorbed into the deathly silence of your Edict.

You heft your gear and continue on your journey.

The sigil of Frost that forms from your fingers casts a wan light over the masks of your ambushers, the pale blue light glinting in their widening eyes. The darkness of the Edict seems to empower the spell, flowing through you and into a gale of cold air that explodes from your hands. In its wake the magic leaves only a handful of corpses, each frozen solid where they stood.

You move past them and continue towards your destination.

You speak only her name, and Kills-in-Shadow erupts from the darkness behind your ambushers. The endless night seems to muffle their screams as the Beastwoman rends flesh and snaps bone. It's over in moments, leaving only broken bodies in shallow pools of blood. Kills-in-Shadow wipes gore from her muzzle with the back of her hand.

You scratch her neck and continue on your journey.

You shake your head at the incompetence of these lawbreakers. Do they not recognize you? Do they not realize that this darkness is YOURS? You are the Archon of the Mountain Spire, and they are but cloying insects to be crushed.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

The veil of darkness over the region manifested as a hazy smudge on the horizon long before you reached it, not unlike a distant heavy rain of a gray so deep it verged on black. As you closed that distance, the Edict of Nightfall seemed more like a wall of midnight set into the Tiers by your voice.

Continue...

Passing into the darkness is like stepping directly into the dead of night. No light seeps in from the road behind you. The sun, visible above as a dull, pale circle in the sky, gives no heat, and even the ever-still moon Terratus Grave provides no comforting pale illumination. The stars are but flat, white spots on the dark dome of the sky, as utterly lifeless as a fresco.

Continue...

The veil of darkness over the region manifested as a hazy smudge on the horizon long before you reached it, not unlike a distant heavy rain of a gray so deep it verged on black. As you closed that distance, the Edict of Nightfall seemed more like a wall of midnight set into the Tiers by your voice.

Continue...

Passing into the darkness is like stepping directly into the dead of night. No light seeps in from the road behind you. The sun, visible above as a dull, pale circle in the sky, gives no heat, and even the ever-still moon Terratus Grave provides no comforting pale illumination. The stars are but flat, white spots on the dark dome of the sky, as utterly lifeless as a fresco.

Continue...

The veil of darkness over the region manifested as a hazy smudge on the horizon long before you reached it, not unlike a distant heavy rain of a gray so deep it verged on black. As you closed that distance, the Edict of Nightfall seemed more like a wall of midnight set into the Tiers by your voice.

Continue...

Passing into the darkness is like stepping directly into the dead of night. No light seeps in from the road behind you. The sun, visible above as a dull, pale circle in the sky, gives no heat, and even the ever-still moon Terratus Grave provides no comforting pale illumination. The stars are but flat, white spots on the dark dome of the sky, as utterly lifeless as a fresco.

Continue...

The veil of darkness over the region manifested as a hazy smudge on the horizon long before you reached it, not unlike a distant heavy rain of a gray so deep it verged on black. As you closed that distance, the Edict of Nightfall seemed more like a wall of midnight set into the Tiers by your voice.

Continue...

Passing into the darkness is like stepping directly into the dead of night. No light seeps in from the road behind you. The sun, visible above as a dull, pale circle in the sky, gives no heat, and even the ever-still moon Terratus Grave provides no comforting pale illumination. The stars are but flat, white spots on the dark dome of the sky, as utterly lifeless as a fresco.

Continue...

Figures step out onto the road ahead of you, little more than silhouettes against a deeper dark. They wear cloth masks over their mouth and hair, but you doubt you could have identified their features anyway. No light glints from their blades, but you can feel the weapons' presence.

"Your money or your life, traveler!" growls a low voice.

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_playeredictstone

Transcript
The parched earth, cracks beneath your tread. The air hangs still, a thin fog of dry dust layering everything in sight, lending a gray veneer to all you perceive. The land seems to drink the movement of all things into itself, then rumbles with indigestion from the power.

Yet you issued this Edict, and it remains connected to you. You feel the strength of the land in your muscles and bone, its enduring hardness in your flesh.

As you crest the lip of a shallow gorge, you think for a moment that you've stumbled upon a contingent of soldiers lying in wait. That none of them are at all moving quickly dispels such thoughts. Corpses, or something like corpses, litter the ground, each as still as statuary.

As you crest one of the flame-blackened hills, you see spread before you a camp, utterly still. You espy a few bodies among the tents and ashen stumps.

As you approach them, you realize that what you at first took to be a small cluster of stones are actually a small collection of huddled bodies. None move.

The song of insects sounds but a tired groan, and the broad, open fields of Haven spread dry and brown to the horizon. Limp grass sags beneath its own weight. A single spark, you imagine, would reduce the entire region to cinders.

Even the mountains seem drier, their peaks no longer capped by glistening white. The evergreens have given up their color, and the Matani has been reduced to a trickling line of muddy water.

Investigate further.

Avoid them.

You continue along the road, skirting the valley of the dead.

You walk among the bodies and realize from the rags they wore and the almost complete absence of weapons that they were peasants, refugees of Stalwart, likely, who had been in hiding, possibly sheltering in the gully against the Overlord's Edict of Storms.

A dull, uniform reddish gray hue colors them entirely, skin, clothes, and belongings included.

You enter the camp and recognize the garb and staves of the School of Ink and Quill. Some of those gathered here were no more than children, likely refugees from the Vellum Citadel's destruction. You find a small stack of scrolls, lift one, and realize that it has been transformed into a single thin curl of brittle rock. It crumbles in your hands. Your attention turns to the bodies, each the gray-black color of charcoal.

You approach the corpses and find that both their skin and their simple farmers' garb is the same dull brown color of the land. Sashes, shoes, hair, even their wooden cart, all claimed by the Stone Sea. Only one of the corpses shows any color at all: a long, sharp shard of violet crystal that rises from her gaping mouth, sparkling silently in the sun.

Speak to them.

You touch the face of an unmoving boy, no more than ten years old, and find it as unyielding as stone. You realize, as you stand, that the Edict has entirely transformed these bodies to rock. You wonder for a moment, whether these people were dead before the Edict reduced them to stone, or if its power killed them.

You continue your journey, giving the camp of corpses a wide berth.

You leave the bodies be and continue your travels.

You approach a farm, little more than a field demarcated by a low stone wall. Within, a small family picks among the wilted stalks, collecting what desiccated husks that remain.

Ignore them.

Having nothing to say to the peasants, you continue past, leaving them to their labor.

The family genuflect, greeting your arrival with extreme obeisance. They make no complaint about their situation, but instead offer you what few vegetables they have collected.

Accept them.

[10000 rings] Purchase them.

Tell the family to relocate.

You accept the offering and continue on your journey, leaving the small farm behind.

You accept the offering, but give your own in exchange: a full iron ring, far more than the worth of the food. The farmers' eyes go wide at the ring, and they try to refuse it, but you suggest that it would be unwise to reject the largess of an Archon. They thank you profusely, falling to the dry earth in gratitude.

You continue on your journey.

The farmers blanch, stutter, and avert their gazes. Their family worked this land for generations, they tell you, and even if they wanted to, they cannot afford to relocate.

They again offer the fruits of their labors.

[10000 rings] Purchase them.

Refuse them.

The farmers try to press the food on you, but when it's clear you will not take it, they accept your refusal. You continue on, leaving them behind you.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

The parched earth, cracks beneath your tread. The air hangs still, a thin fog of dry dust layering everything in sight, lending a gray veneer to all you perceive. The land seems to drink the movement of all things into itself, then rumbles with indigestion from the power.

Yet you issued this Edict, and it remains connected to you. You feel the strength of the land in your muscles and bone, its enduring hardness in your flesh.

Continue...

The parched earth, cracks beneath your tread. The air hangs still, a thin fog of dry dust layering everything in sight, lending a gray veneer to all you perceive. The land seems to drink the movement of all things into itself, then rumbles with indigestion from the power.

Yet you issued this Edict, and it remains connected to you. You feel the strength of the land in your muscles and bone, its enduring hardness in your flesh.

Continue...

The parched earth, cracks beneath your tread. The air hangs still, a thin fog of dry dust layering everything in sight, lending a gray veneer to all you perceive. The land seems to drink the movement of all things into itself, then rumbles with indigestion from the power.

Yet you issued this Edict, and it remains connected to you. You feel the strength of the land in your muscles and bone, its enduring hardness in your flesh.

Continue...

The parched earth, cracks beneath your tread. The air hangs still, a thin fog of dry dust layering everything in sight, lending a gray veneer to all you perceive. The land seems to drink the movement of all things into itself, then rumbles with indigestion from the power.

Yet you issued this Edict, and it remains connected to you. You feel the strength of the land in your muscles and bone, its enduring hardness in your flesh.

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_playeredictstorms

Transcript
The wind slows your journey, pressing against you with the strength of a river's flow. Clouds churn the sky above, turbid with the arcane energies of your Edict of Storms.

Howling gusts tear through the canyons and rusted spines of the Blade Grave, carrying clouds of grit down the long trenches gouged by the incessant winds' erosion. You can't help but compare your work to the Overlord's... and Kyros' Edict of Storms felt far more hostile. You almost feel welcomed by this swirling chaos, as if it is a part of you made manifest and inflicted upon the world.

Lightning leaps between the clouds above, illumination flashing across the flooded plains stretched out before you. The deluge of rain has fallen unceasingly since you issued the Edict of Storms upon Haven, and the rivers escaped their banks. Grass and grains bend and break below the falling water, and the roads have been transmuted into a winding muddy mire.

The sun's light filters green through the billowing gases above you, and the rain that falls is thick with acrid chemicals that hiss upon striking stone. The drops have spattered the heavy cloak you wear for protection with bleached white splotches. A stench like Beast urine burns your nostrils.

The winds carry vast fogs of dry dust across the uneven surface of the Stone Sea, even as it shrieks between the great earthen spars. It drives the sand and grit into your features, suffusing you until you're not sure where your cracked skin ends and the parched land begins.

The valley of Vendrien's Well is a well-watered bowl, the unending deluge of your Edict of Storms flooding the Matani and the Irenev. Lightning rends the sky, and thunder echoes in your ribs. The roads through old Apex have been rendered little more than a barely-traversable quagmire.

Before you, you make out a bustle of activity at a nearby building, a squat and isolated farmhouse of plastered stone.

Investigate further.

Avoid it.

Help pack.

Deciding against involving yourself with whatever is occurring, you press on through the storm of your own making.

As you approach, you make out the ruins of a lonely farmhouse, the wood over the windows blackened with corrosion. A half-solid ooze rings the house, remnants of plaster that has sloughed off under the rain's onslaught. In front of the home, the ostensible homesteaders have set up a thick hide overhang to protect the cart that they're filling with their paltry belongings.

As you approach the building, you see a family of Tiers peasants battling the elements in hurried desperation. They have secured their door and windows against the worst of the storm, but the wind has torn half the roof from the structure, and they work desperately to repair it.

Extol your greatness.

Leave.

Help with repairs.

You leave the peasants to their labors and continue on your journey.

You stride forward and shout to the peasants, declaring the storm a great and terrible working called by your voice to strike down the iniquitous. They quiver in fear, eyes wide with horror.

You leave the peasants to their labors and continue on your journey.

You join the homesteaders, startling them with your approach, and they draw knives and pitchforks. When they realize you're there to assist, they nod grimly and pass you belongings to add to the cart. Your presence under the canopy seems to ward off the worst of the storm, and the work goes quickly.

The peasants thank you vociferously, and you continue on your journey.

You stride forward, startling the peasants, but when they realize you're assisting them, they gratefully provide you tools and materials. The storm seems to hamper your efforts less than theirs and you finish patching the roof quickly.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

The wind slows your journey, pressing against you with the strength of a river's flow. Clouds churn the sky above, turbid with the arcane energies of your Edict of Storms.

Continue...

The wind slows your journey, pressing against you with the strength of a river's flow. Clouds churn the sky above, turbid with the arcane energies of your Edict of Storms.

Continue...

The wind slows your journey, pressing against you with the strength of a river's flow. Clouds churn the sky above, turbid with the arcane energies of your Edict of Storms.

Continue...

The wind slows your journey, pressing against you with the strength of a river's flow. Clouds churn the sky above, turbid with the arcane energies of your Edict of Storms.

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_randomrebels

Transcript
They don't make you wait to learn their intention, however: "This is for Apex, Fatebinder, whore of the Overlord. This is for the nation you despoiled and the heroes you murdered. For Vendrien's Well and its Guard." Arrows are nocked, their heads glistening with poisoned oil. "Prepare to meet the void!"

"The Vellum Citadel remember what others forget. You, however, will meet the fate of every peon of the Overlord foolish enough to cross the Sages - an anonymous grave in foreign soil." Her fingers flicker before her, catching arcane energy up in ancient sigils. "Prepare to be forgotten."

"The Vellum Citadel remembers what others forget. Mere death would be too merciful for you, Firestarter. Your actions demand complete erasure - to be burned away as so much lore has been by your hand." Her fingers flicker before her, catching arcane energy up in ancient sigils. "Prepare to be forgotten."

They don't make you wait to learn their intention, however: "This is for Apex, Queenslayer, whore of the Overlord. This is for the nation you despoiled and the heroes you murdered. For Vendrien's Well and its Guard." Arrows are nocked, their heads glistening with poisoned oils. "Prepare to join the Queen!"

The road winds through a narrow ravine; you're considering how it would make an excellent locale for an ambush even as the bronze-armored soldiers step onto the road before you. You glance back the way you came and confirm your suspicions: the way back is blocked by additional warriors.

The soldiers draw blades and bows, faces creased with stress and spotted with dirt. Bandages peek from gaps in ill-maintained armor, and the banner they plant in the soil is more tatters than heraldry.

The air shimmers around you, the trees along the path shuddering, shrinking, and sprouting arms as trunks split into legs. An arcane illusion, you realize, and in its place men and women in soot-dusted clothes, quills tucked into hats and jars of acrid-scented potions hanging from their belts.

A young woman steps forth, her right eye a mass of burn scars, her left narrowed at you in abject loathing. "The School of Ink and Quill is not done with you, Binder." She spits.

Attack them.

Speak to them.

You ready your arms and prepare for combat.

Attack them.

Speak to them.

You ready your arms and prepare for combat.

Your hands near your weapons, you consider your words carefully.

Your hands near your weapons, you consider your words carefully.

Defuse the situation.

Threaten them.

[10000 rings] Bribe them.

Defuse the situation.

Threaten them.

[10000 rings] Bribe them.

You begin to speak to them with the calming dispassion learned in court, when the oathbreaker hurls a javelin at you. It seems there shall be no parley here.

You roar at your ambushers in fury, striking your hand against your chest, reminding them of the death and destruction you have wrought across the Tiers...

The oathbreakers look to one another, resolve crumbling before your torrent of boasts and threats.

"Do you really want to throw your lives away for a dead realm?" you ask.

They back away from you as you stride through their ranks and continue on your journey.

"Stowe it, Fatebinder!" one of them shouts as the others roar in agreement. "We know your list of deeds, and we're here to hold you accountable!"

They charge.

You hurl insults at the bookish magicians, threatening to break their bodies as you have so many before them.

The woman scowls and spits again. "No one knows your history better than we do. Which is why we must end it!" They begin to chant, fingers moving in an arcane dance.

The woman scoffs at your offer of an iron ring. "The knowledge lost at your hands had value beyond compare and you think to buy your freedom with iron?" Her fingers begin to trace sigils in the air. "You will make fine worm food..."

Hands empty, you speak to the historians in the quiet, even tones of a scriptorium...

The tension in their muscles visibly lessens as you explain to them the respect that you have for knowledge. You work to preserve what you can, but recognize the inevitability of the Overlord's conquest. As they start nodding, you tell them that if they seek a new place to belong, they should come to you at your Spire. They bow and back off, melting again into the foliage.

"Enough!" the magician barks. "You will not convince us of your respect for our work. Only the void awaits you!" The magicians begin chanting.

Flee the area.

You escape unscathed and continue your journey.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_randomrebels02

Transcript
You stop short as a javelin plants itself in the ground at your feet. Several Unbroken soldiers seemingly materialize from nowhere on the road ahead, axes hefted and javelins drawn. Grit clings to tarnished bronze armor and dust hides in the folds of threadbare cloth.

You see the soldiers marching in formation on the road ahead of you. They don't seem openly aggressive, but as they come nearer, you realize that they're flying the standard of Old Stalwart. Upon noting you, the leader raises a gauntleted hand in a fist, and the group stops short. The standard bearer sinks her flag into the soil.

You round a bend in the road and come face to face with a group of warriors in bronze mail and heavy, jagged helms, each seated on a rock or leaning against a tree. They look to you, slowly rising to their feet, readying axes and mauls.

"Stormcaller!" the leader calls out. "We are the true sons and daughters of Old Stalwart. You ruined our cities and fields with your Edict, shattered our nation's royal line, and stolen our greatest citadel, yet we persist. So long as the blood of Stalwart runs through these veins," he slaps an open palm against his sword arm, "the Overlord shall be resisted! Your blood, however, will water these roads. To the void with you, bane of Stalwart!"

"Governor," one greets you with a mocking bow. "One would think that Raetommon would have had you killed when you returned, given everything you've done to us. But he didn't, and now he's dead." The warriors lower their shoulders and bend their knees, readying to strike. "Those of us left, we've no intention of repeating that mistake."

"Fatebinder," one says darkly. "Surely you didn't think that the Brotherhood ended with Raetommon. Surely you didn't think that we'd forget or forgive his end." The warriors lower their shoulders and bend their knees, readying to strike. "Surely you knew it would come to this: the Brotherhood's end or yours."

"Fatebinder!" the leader calls out, extending an index finger towards you. "We are the true sons and daughters of Stalwart. You may have slaughtered our Regent, but you have not defeated us. So long as the blood of Stalwart runs through these veins," he slaps an open palm against his sword arm, "the Overlord shall be resisted! Your blood, however, will water these roads. Die, slave of Kyros!"

One of the men steps forward, striking blade against shield as if he didn't already have your attention. "For Mattias and for Stalwart!" he shouts. "Death to all tyrants!"

Attack them.

Speak to them.

The Bronze Brother releases a shrill whistle, and his cohort moves to attack.

Your hands near your weapons, you consider your words carefully.

Defuse the situation.

Threaten them.

[10000 rings] Bribe them.

You've barely gotten the first words out when the Bronze Brother cuts you off with a swipe of his blade. "We're not here for words." He whistles, and his cohort charges.

You laugh at the mercenaries. Do they truly take you as so easy a mark, you ask. How many of them will you have to kill before they'll leave you be?

"He has a point," a tall man with a maul mutters. The mercenary leader looks to him, then among his compatriots. He scowls at you. "We'll let you go. This time." The Brothers leave you to continue your journey.

The mercenaries glance among themselves, but the leader seems unconvinced. "Go screw yourself sideways, asshole," he barks. With a raised hand and a whistle, he signals the attack.

The mercenaries glance at one another when you offer them an iron ring. "You think an iron pays for the lives you've taken? It doesn't begin to!" Shouts rise from his fellows. "That said, we're not unreasonable. Make it five iron, and we'll forget we saw you. For today, at least."

Accept the offer.

Decline.

The Bronze Brother takes the offered iron rings. He glances back at you as he leads his cohort away. "Be seeing you, [Player Title|."

Attack them.

Speak to them.

You ready your arms and prepare for combat.

Your words go unheeded as the Unbroken charge.

Attack them.

Speak to them.

You ready your arms and prepare for combat.

Your hands near your weapons, you consider your words carefully.

Defuse the situation.

Threaten them.

[10000 rings] Bribe them.

"You DARE offer us iron as penance?!" the soldier screams, spittle leaping from his lips. "Even your life shall not balance your crimes!" They roar as one and advance.

You shout at the soldiers, reminding them that you took their keep from them, slain dozens of them already, and called down Edicts.

"You must be under the impression," their leader says grimly, "that we have something left to lose." He raises his weapon, and his men charge.

Hands raised and palms open, you speak to the soldiers in the practiced calm of the Court of Fatebinders...

You speak of their bravery and that of the people of their homeland. The death of Straydus was a regrettable necessity to free the region from the yoke of the Edict of Storms. This cycle of violence need not continue here today. They need not throw away their lives, lives that would be better served helping their home rebuild.

The squad's leader wipes his face. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps there's still work to be done in Stalwart." He looks to his fellows, and they nod in agreement. "Farewell, Fatebinder. May we never meet again."

"Shove your honeyed words up Kyros' ass!" the Regent shouts. His soldiers roar in support as they charge.

Flee the area.

You escape unscathed and continue your journey.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_stoneseafallout

Transcript
One moves forward, a gargantuan Beastwoman whose dugs hang scarred and dust-dressed. She growls low, hackles rising, and her pack moves as one, closing on you.

The ground trembles around you, cracks forming at your feet, forcing you back. The hills rumble, sloughing away into the ruptured landscape. Figures move towards you through the dust, their silhouettes defined against a soft violet glow. They resolve into robed men and women armed with staves and flanked by iron-shod warriors bearing the scarred heraldry of the Disfavored.

The Beastmen seem to melt from the soil and stone, rising from crouches or dropping from outcroppings, each covered head to claw in matted, slate gray fur and reeking of blood and decay. They circle you, padding on bare knuckle and foot, eyes flashing jaundiced yellow, lips twisted back from filthy fangs.

Attack them.

Speak with them.

"You took Cairn from us!" one of the Earthshakers hisses, staff flaring with russet light. "You took him from us and gave him to the rutting Beasts!" The earth rumbles. "We shall sacrifice your blood and bones to the earth, and then we will skin your filthy friends and wear their hides!"

"You took Cairn from us, motherless cur!" one of the Earthshakers hisses, staff flaring with russet light. "Worse, you have seduced our guild into insurrection! But like Terratus we endure. And like Terratus, we shall drink your blood and grind your bones into dust!"

"You took Cairn from us and slaughtered our leaders!" one of the Earthshakers hisses, staff flaring with russet light. "Yet we carry their will forward. Our restoration begins with your destruction, Fatebinder!"

Attack them.

Speak with them.

Attack them.

Speak with them.

Attack them.

Speak with them.

You ready your arms and prepare for combat.

Your hands near your weapons, you consider your words carefully.

You ready your arms and prepare for combat.

Defuse the situation.

Threaten them.

[10000 rings] Bribe them.

Your hands near your weapons, you consider your words carefully.

Defuse the situation.

Threaten them.

[10000 rings] Bribe them.

Adopting your calmest tone and most amiable body language, you speak to the Beastwoman, trying to assuage her. Her eyes never leave yours, and when the attack comes, it is remarkably coordinated given that it's entirely without words.

You rear back, squaring your shoulders, throwing your hands out to either side, making yourself as large as possible, and shout at the Beastwoman. They're here because you've felled the greatest of them, you assume. And if you can fell her, then what hope do they have of even putting a claw to you?

The Beasts take a step back at your barking, and the Beastwoman alpha glances to her compatriots. She backs away slowly, then, as one, the pack lopes off of the road and into the wilds from which they came. You're left to continue your journey.

The Beastwoman's head shifts to the side, her pupils constricting and nostrils flaring. She chuffs quietly, then pounces at you without a word.

You calmly raise your hands and adopt your most rational tone. You attempt to show them reason: Cairn's doom was sealed by the Overlord's Edict, not your actions, and Radix's stronghold couldn't have held out against the Chorus and Stonestalker forces arrayed against it much longer even without your intervention...

You did help their brothers and sisters, the Earthshaker admits. And you seem to respect Cairn, even if you ended him. He finally nods. Today you may go your separate ways, but when you meet again, it will be as enemies. They leave you to continue your journey.

Your words are not wholly without merit, the Earthshaker admits, but your actions have spoken with greater force than speech can ever muster - they cannot go unpunished. The earth trembles as he begins to trace sigils in the air, and the Disfavored advance upon you.

"Silence!" the Earthshaker roars and the ground answers, pebbles tumbling from nearby boulders. He begins drawing sigils of Cairn upon the air, and the Disfavored advance upon you. "Your time draws nigh, Fatebinder!"

You look down your nose at the mages and their guards. How many lives have ended at your hands, you ask? How much power has flowed through your form? Do they truly think that a couple of suits of iron and a few sigils will protect them when so many others have failed?

The Earthshaker sputters with rage, but an iron gauntlet clasps his shoulder. "Listen to the Fatebinder," the Disfavored tells the mage. "Only a fool chooses a battle so unfavorable."

The Earthshaker looks to his companions, and each nods in agreement with the Disfavored. "So be it, Fatebinder," the Earthshaker spits. "We part ways today, but we shall face one another as enemies one day."

The group backs away, leaving you to continue your journey.

The Earthshaker sputters in rage, and his fellow mage takes a step back from you.

"Everyone dies eventually," one of the Disfavored says, jagged iron blade leveled at you. "Everyone save the Overlord. Maybe today is our day. But maybe it's yours."

Emboldened by their ally's words, the Earthshakers begin to draw sigils on the air. The earth trembles...

The Earthshaker blinks at your offer. "Where do you think rings come from?" he growls. "The land offers up its bounty at our caress, fool! You think we value rings over the Archon of Stone? Over the lives of our brethren?" He slams his staff into the ground and it rumbles as if in anger. "Kill the Fatebinder!" he shouts.

Flee the area.

You escape unscathed and continue your journey.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\00_wme_thesnigglers

Transcript
You're following the road through an expanse of scrubby woodlands, crooked oaks and dry-needled pines grasping towards the sky, when you catch the sound of children's laughter filtering through the trees.

To the right of the road a broad basin opens, the tall grass shifting quietly in the light breeze like the waves on the open sea. A silver ribbon of stream winds across the panorama, and you make out a small group gathered on the water's edge.

As you pick your way along a cliffside path, you notice a rope ladder set into the stone and descending into the depths of a ravine. Peering over, you make out a river's slow wend below. The rope terminates on a small ledge jutting over the shimmering surface, a trio of youth dangling lines into the water.

Investigate the laughter.

Ignore and continue.

Abandoning the road, you make your way to a small tributary of the Matani snaking through the sparse forest. There you discover a group of four youths gathered beside the small stream. Two of the children sit on the rocks, poles in hand, staring patiently at the water. The other two are seated near a bucket taking turns whacking eels along the ground to stun them and carving up eel meat.

Having important work to do for the Overlord, you decide that whatever the children are up to is beneath your notice and continue your march down the dusty road towards your destination.

Approach the group.

Ignore and continue.

Descend the ladder.

Ignore and continue.

Espying your approach, the snigglers snatch up their baskets and poles and scatter, bolting in two groups, each following the river in opposite directions. Their shouts and laughter ride the wind to you.

You stick to the high road, rounding the basin and continuing your journey.

The trio fail to notice you until you're almost upon them. They wave pleasantly, inviting you to join them, going so far as to offering you a worm and pole. You notice that their basket is bereft of the smallest catch, and their ribs show plainly through their tan skin.

One look at the rickety ladder and the precipitous drop and you decide against the notion, continuing to your destination instead.

You crash out of the woods, stomping on dry branches and striking your hand against your chest. You shout at the children, calling up the specters of Kyros, Tunon, and Bleden Mark. The kids scream and scramble, dashing into the undergrowth and leaving behind their basket of caught eels. You collect the slimy haul and return to the road, confident in your evening's repast.

Threaten the children.

Speak to the children.

Kidnap the children.

Return to the road.

You step out of the woods, drawing the attention of the children, who eye you warily. The eldest youth, almost a man grown, notes your heraldry and hawks a ball of phlegm into the reeds.

You spring upon the children without warning and manage to grab up two of them as the others get away. They scream, kick, and bite, but they are no match for you in size or strength.

Having sated your curiosity, you return to the road and continue on your journey.

Punish the spitter.

Tell a story.

Ask to sniggle.

Conscript the children.

In a violent surge you stride towards the disrespectful youth. Before he can do more than stand your fingers wrap around his neck. As the other children flee into the underbrush, you choke the boy until you feel his convulsions become harried and frantic - only then do you release your grip. He crumbles into a sobbing mess at your feet.

You raise your hands to calm the youngsters and ask if they've heard the tale of Pox and the elder boar of the Bernian Wood. When they look to one another without answer, you begin to spin the story for them, an odd and sometimes amusing yarn filled with epic adventure and dark mysticism. By the time you've finished, the youth have become entirely absorbed in your story, utterly rapt in their attention. The youngest of the children brings you an eel in exchange for your time. You thank them and return to the road to continue your journey.

Though initially wary of you, the youths relax as you sit with them, poking your bait into the snig holes and waiting patiently for a catch. Eventually you hook one of the eels, hauling the hissing beast from the stream and cracking its head upon the stone until it goes still. You thank the youths for the use of their pole and return to the road with your catch in hand.

You bring the children back to the nearest Scarlet Chorus camp. The Voices of Nerat has very few rules, but proctecing the young is one of them. The children will be trained and educated until old enough to fight as part of the Scarlet horde in the name of the Overlord.

You pry from them the name of their home village and make your way there, demanding a tithe to the Overlord from their parents in exchange for the children's safe return. The village scrapes together enough rings to secure the release of their youth, and you continue on your journey, your belt a tad heavier.

Walk away silently.

Admonish the youth.

Without a word you turn your back to the youths and continue your journey.

You shout at the fleeing children, underscoring the wages of resistence. Apex is the domain of the Kyros, and the Overlord's officers WILL be respected.

Save for the quiet babbling of the stream, silence falls upon the woodland. You leave the youths behind and return to the stream.

Ransom the children.

Pursue upriver.

Pursue downriver.

Leave them be.

You give chase, crashing through the tall grass after the Haven youth. Despite their head start, you rapidly catch up with the youngsters, grasping one by the collar and another by the wrist. They squirm, trying to break free, but you hold them fast.

Conscript the children.

Interrogate the youth.

[50 Copper| Buy eels.

Let the children go.

You bind the youths and march them back to the road. They cry and complain as you march them towards the Crossing, and you advise them that such sniveling will serve them poorly in the social circles of the Chorus.

At the settlement, you release the conscripts into the care of the garrison commander to effusive gratitude. You turn your back on the children and return to your journey.

You assure them that you are not in league with these mercenaries, and they appear relieved by this detail.

Once they've calmed, you release the pair before offering them rings in exchange for their catch. At first, they look to one another, clearly skeptical and mistrustful, but their desire for copper overturns their suspicions. The bounty you proffer for the eels they've caught is more than fair; they add the rings to their belt and surrender their basket of snigs.

As they take up their poles and make their retreat, you return to the road to continue your journey.

You unhand the youths, and they stumble away from you, one rubbing her wrist. They look to one another, then to you. You assure them that they're free to go; they step away, hesitantly at first, then break into a run, putting as much distance between themselves and you as possible.

You return to the road and turn toward your destination.

You neither confirm nor deny your alliance with the Bronze Brotherhood, but assure them that the mercenaries have turned their attention to more lofty enemies than eels and the children that hunt them.

Sniggle with them.

Give sniggling lessons.

Decline and return to the path.

You take up a pole a join them, hooking a worm and lowering it into the water below. You work the bait into a snig hole and wait patiently for the eel to bite.

You eventually feel a tug. You count quietly to yourself, letting the eel swallow the worm, then yank roughly to set the hook before dragging the slippery beast from the current.

The trio of youngsters jump and clap with excitement at your accomplishment.

After you climb out of the ravine, Eb corners you with a wry grin. "Should have known you're a natural with slick eels and long poles."

You return to your march across the Stone Sea.

You refuse the offer, instead climbing the ladder back up the stone wall to the path. From there you continue your trek through the broken lands of the Stone Sea.

Leave with eel.

Give them eel.

You ask the youngsters to show you their technique, and you quickly identify several shortcomings. You show them how to hook their bait so that it won't slip free, how to make ensure the bait fits into the snig hole, and how to wait until the eel has had time to swallow the hook before setting it.

After your instruction, the youths make another attempt at sniggling, and one quickly makes a catch. The three thank you profusely for your help.

Leaving the pole with the trio, you hang the catch from your gear and make your way back up the rope, your ascent followed by the wide, hungry eyes of the youth. You ignore them, find the path, and continue on your trek through the Stone Sea.

You lower the river beast into the basket and free the hook from within it. The trio look up to you with wide eyes when you slide the basket to them. You confirm that the catch is for them and they thank you profusely, even embracing you in their joy.

You demand to know why the children fled you, and it quickly becomes clear that they believe you to be in league with the mercenaries stalking the roads and waterways around Lethian's Crossing. The thugs, they inform you, have been quick to rob them of their eels and poles in the past.

You climb out of the ravine and find the path before continuing on your journey.

You climb out of the ravine and find the path before continuing on your journey.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\01_wme_act3bladegrave

Transcript
Sunlight struggles to punch through the thick brown clouds, casting long shadows from the jutting spars of warped bronze and iron that mark the Blade Grave. In the hazy distance, you can just make out the squared form of Iron Hearth squatting high on the mountainside.

You see the gray smear of smoke against the sky before you reach the fissure.

From the lip of the broad gully, you see a handful of what at first glance appear to be bonfires, but from the blackened, skeletal limbs protruding from them, you guess that they burn on a fuel of human fat. The flames mark only a few of the bodies, however; dozens of corpses, perhaps more than a full hundred, carpet the land below you.

Investigate further.

Find another route.

The sickly-sweet stench of carrion assaults you as you pick your way into the crevasse. From above, the bodies seemed a jumbled motley with no discernible heraldry. You realize why as you make your way among the bodies: many wear only ratty leathers, only crimson sashes or face paint marking them as conscripts of the Scarlet Chorus.

For every ten to twenty members of the horde, you locate a brutalized Disfavored legionnaire, their armor rent in a dozen places, their wounds enough to kill each ten times over.

You leave the road in favor of a cleaner route, leaving the corpses to rot behind you.

"Merciful Kyros," Barik mutters, kneeling by one of the corpses. He touches one's forehead. "Teluria. I almost cannot recognize you, sister." He looks to you. "Archon. These soldiers died in service to the Overlord. They deserve better than to be left to the elements."

It seems that the Disfavored and Scarlet Chorus met in battle here. You suspect that if there were survivors, they belonged to the Chorus. The Disfavored would not have left their fellows to rot beneath the open sky.

Verse snorts. "You planning on burying them all, big boy? Horde and Furies included?"

"Don't be ridiculous," the Stone Shield answers.

"Everyone here died sworn to Kyros, right?" She crosses her arms. "If one deserves burial, don't they all?"

Bury the Disfavored.

Bury the Chorus.

Bury both.

Scavenge the battlefield.

Leave.

You decide only to bury the Disfavored. The work doesn't take too long, and when you finish, the earth boasts a dozen small grave markers, each topped with an iron helm.

The Chorus corpses you stack to the side like logs. Scavengers, you reason, will take care of the rest.

You decide only to bury the Chorus conscripts. It's long, hard work, but you clear a deep mass grave and fill it with hundreds of corpses. You prop up a few tattered crimson standards to mark the mound.

The heavy Disfavored corpses you move only so much as you need to complete your grim work.

It takes hours, but you manage to dig a pair of mass graves, one for each of the two forces. Sweaty, filthy, and sick with the smell of your enterprise, you mark each mound with a set of standards.

You leave the valley of the dead, your back aching but your resolve bolstered.

You move among the corpses like a phantom, alighting briefly on each to check hands for rings, scabbards for blades, suits of armor for pieces that have not been entirely wrecked, and, of course, belts for rings.

Your packs notably heavier, you leave the corpses behind in favor of your destination.

Deciding that there exists nothing here for you, you climb the far side of the gully and continue towards your destination.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\01_wme_chrysalis

Transcript
No longer blasted by the endless winds of the Edict of Storms, the Blade Grave seems an endless expanse of twisted metal spines and rough-hewn cliffsides. Life has yet to return to Stalwart - you hear no birds and glimpse no rodents.

But today you make out a billowing cloud of brightly shimmering movement. It's a few hundred feet away still, but moving down the ravine towards you.

Identify the cloud.

Retreat back down the ravine.

Find a nearby cave to hide in.

Ask a companion about the cloud.

You look to your companions, deciding which to ask...

Barik

Lantry

Eb

Kills-In-Shadow

For a moment you think it some kind of massive Bane, a huge creature of roiling arcane malice, but then you realize it's not a single entity. You search your mind for the stories Tiers fauna when you recall the Chrysalis, winged insects that travels in swarms. The Chrysalis are pests, known to burrow into trees, ships, and homes to lay their eggs.

Consider the massive deforestation of Stalwart by the Edict of Storms, one wonders what this swarm has been eating these days...

"Those are Chrysalis, Fatebinder," Barik tells you, a hint of awe in his voice. "I haven't seen a swarm in, well, since the Edict of Storms. They're pests, but mostly harmless. Burrow into wooden posts and planks. But I didn't think they could form that large a swarm... should we find cover?"

"Ah, the Chrysalis! Or at least, a local species of the type. They actually quite harmless," Lantry opines. "Provided you're not a house. Or a boat. Or crops. Or if they've been denied plant matter for too long, then they turn carnivorous."

As he begins to launch into the various subspecies that have been observed in the Tiers, the cloud grows ever closer.

"The Chrysalis!" Eb says the name like it's a social disease. "Disgusting, burrowing bugs that devour carpentry. When they run out of wet lumber to eat, they've been known to eat animal flesh... especially when swarming... like they are now."

Crouched with palms flat against the grit, Kills-In-Shadow sniffs at the air. "Burrow bugs. Eat trees and human walls of wood. Swarm makes song like wind in leaves." Her snout twitches slightly as the cloud grows closer.

"Burrow bugs smell of blood. May burrow flesh. Should find hard stone shelter."

You work your way carefully among the rocks as the baleful buzz crescendos. Through the gap behind you, you make out a turbid fog of shining carapaces.

A few insects break from the swarm, alighting on the stone near you. Their wings boast symmetrical pearlescent swirls, and their mandibles, sharp enough to shear through wood, chitter in mesmerizing syncopation.

Grabbing your gear, you make haste for the entrance to the ravine. Glancing back, you see the swarm, despite its size, seems to be gaining on you. A low, droning sound surrounds you as you realize you won't make it to the mouth of this valley before the horde is upon you. The walls here, however, are filled with gaps you may be able to use for climbing or shelter.

Scale the wall.

You reach the top of the gorge and roll away from the swarm's path. You watch as the turbulent cloud rages between the stones, the swarm coming terrifyingly close to you. Perhaps more at home hunting closer to the ground, the swarm loses interest in this high vantage point and the cloud of Chrysalis slowly flutter back to ground level.

Attack with Fire magic.

Your fingers dance upon the air, forming the sigil of the Archon of Fire.

Shields, blades, human bones, and the carapaces of armor jut into your path, halting your progress.

You attempt to work your way carefully among the rocks as a baleful buzz rises to crescendo.

Your muscles aching and your knees and arms seeping blood from a half dozen scrapes, you realize there's no way you'll squeeze into a crevasse before the swarm is upon you.

Your fingers dance upon the air, forming the sigils of the long-dead Archon of Frost.

Your fingers dance upon the air, forming the sigils of an ancient Archon of Lightning.

Your fingers dance upon the air, forming the sigils of an Archon of Force.

Your fingers dance upon the air, forming the sigils of an Archon, drawing from the world around you the pulse of arcane energies.

Before you can pull yourself to the top, the turbulent cloud rages around you, insects alight on your clothes, hands, and face, crawling into your ears and nose, across the lids of your closed eyes. Where they find exposed flesh, they bite and bore into you, their mandibles a hundred tiny sickles carving your skin.

You force yourself forward, throwing yourself over the canyon wall, heedless of whatever danger may be above. You roll desperately across the ground, leaving a swath crushes insects as your tumble.

When you finally free yourself from the insects, you're left with the pain of hundreds of stinging wounds across your flesh, and the incessant drone of the swarm still lingering in your ears.

The swarm slowly approaching, you search out one of the caves that riddles the sides of the ravine. Carved from the stone by Kyros' incessant winds, the walls of the narrow fissure rise and fall like the waves of a frozen sea.

Jagged stone and bronze bites into your hands as you haul yourself up the side of the ravine, feet digging into the walls, searching desperately for purchase. Sweat runs into your eyes as you pull yourself closer and closer to the lip of the rock face.

After what feels like the better part of an hour, the last of the insects vanish, leaving you alone in the ravine, the song of the swarm still humming in your ears.

After what feels like the better part of an hour, the last of the insects vanish, leaving you alone in the ravine, the song of the swarm still humming in your ears.

The horde of shining creatures comes nearer, their droning growing in your ears with all of the subtlety of a maelstrom of daggers.

The sound reaches a crescendo as your magic does, and you snap your fingers into the final mudra, releasing the torrent of magic.

Having dissipated the threat, you wipe the sweat from your brow and continue toward your destination.

Your magic crashes through the swarm like a battering ram, crushing some into paste, sending others crashing into the stone walls of the ravine or scattering them high into the air. The buzz is replaced with a muffled boom as air rushes in to fill the sudden vacuum.

In an instant, the swarm is silent.

The horde of shining creatures comes nearer, their droning growing in your ears with all of the subtlety of a maelstrom of daggers.

The sound reaches a crescendo as your magic does, and you snap your fingers into the final mudra, releasing the torrent of magic.

The horde of shining creatures comes nearer, their droning growing in your ears with all of the subtlety of a maelstrom of daggers.

The sound reaches a crescendo as your magic does, and you snap your fingers into the final mudra, releasing the torrent of magic.

The horde of shining creatures comes nearer, their droning growing in your ears with all of the subtlety of a maelstrom of daggers.

The sound reaches a crescendo as your magic does, and you snap your fingers into the final mudra, releasing the torrent of magic.

Your torrent of fire tumbles through the swarm, reducing most to cinders, sending others crashing into the stone walls of the ravine or scattering them high into the air in the little burning spirals of their final flights.

Releasing the torrential blizzard directly into the face of the oncoming creatures, your magic flash-freezes the tiny insects, encasing them in shimmering crystal before shattering them against the stone walls of the ravine.

Lightning courses from your hands into the oncoming swarm. The energy leaps from insect to insect, obliterating each in an instant before arcing to the walls and the earth. Those creatures that avoid being reduced to ash crash into the stone walls of the ravine or scatter high into the air.

The horde of shining creatures comes nearer, their droning growing in your ears with all of the subtlety of a maelstrom of daggers.

The sound reaches a crescendo as your magic does, and you snap your fingers into the final mudra, releasing the torrent of magic.

The sound reaches a crescendo as your magic does, but before you can snap your fingers into the final figure, the wave of oncoming creatures crashes over you like a battering ram, pushing you backwards, alighting on your cloths, and biting at your skin. Jaw locked in concentration you manage to finish your spell, dissipating the cloud of creatures into the air.

Gulping for air in ragged breaths, you wipe sweat from your brow and blood from your skin before continuing toward your destination.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

You don't know what the cloud is, but it doesn't look safe and it seems to be nearing...

Attack with Frost magic.

Attack with Lightning magic.

Attack with Force magic. </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\01_wme_forestofrust

Transcript
Much of the day is spent navigating through a dense, metallic forest. The strong roots of the ancient Sagewood kept the trees standing after the Edict of Storms hit, their large boughs and branches collecting whatever detritus the wind swept up. What remains is a bizarre, dead forest with metal scrap for a canopy. Rusted weapons dangle from above, embedded in trunks and looped through branches. Fragments of armor decorate the tree limbs above you, a clinking mass of rust-colored foliage.

You glance upward and catch sight of finely-crafted blade, rust-free and balanced precariously upon some branches high up in the tree.

Climb the tree.

Shake the tree.

Use Force magic to knock down the blade.

Ignore the weapon and move on.

The first branches are more than twenty feet up, requiring a slow, ponderous shimmy up the trunk until you're able to reach up to grab hold of an embedded spear - one that supports your weight.

You pull yourself higher and make a daring leap to the branches above. As your right hand makes contact, you hear the snapping of brittle wood... but only from one of the branches in your grasp. You dangle for a moment before grabbing hold with two hands. Soon, your feet find their way to a sturdy bough, and you are safe.

Navigating up the rest of the tree is a much easier affair. The metal decorations make for awkward movement, but you manage a steady pace. Upon reaching the blade, you make a pleasant discovery - several pieces of intact gear have been swept into the crown of the tree.

You unhook and drop the items, watching them as they bounce and plummet to the ground below. A short while later, you're back upon the forest floor, richer for your efforts.

The trunk resists any efforts to shake it - a fruitless venture, given their resistance to the Edict storms. The branches above you are at least twenty feet away, further complicating your task. You search the forest floor and find the remnants of long, fallen branch. Raising it up, you rap it against the tree's lower limbs, which rustle slightly but otherwise remain steady.

With a deep breath, you swing the branch forward in a powerful arc. Immediately, several pieces jagged metal race downward. One barely misses you head, while a shredded breastplate bounces off the nearby trunk and rakes you across your arm and torso. The lacerations aren't life-threatening, but they are painful.

Glancing upward, you spy the blade high above, completely undisturbed from the commotion below.

Your hands glide across the air in an intricate performance, fingers curling and twisting to sign the Sigil of Force. You feel a swell of energy rushing along your arms, and guide it forward towards the edges of your fingertips. It bursts outward with a loud crack, shooting through the tree's many boughs as a concussive bolt. It strikes the branch holding the coveted blade, smashing through it and continuing upward past the visible canopy.

You deftly step out of the way as the weapon, and many other objects, come tumbling down. It's a messy descent - belts and boots kick neighboring weapons, which it turn sever branches and collide with breastplates in a chaotic dance. Long-undisturbed metal particles rain down, coating the forest floor in red streaks and patches. The clamor is grating to the ears, but is mercifully over quickly.

You sift through the rusting pile and retrieve your prize, still intact.

The situation feels familiar, and you recall past moments in which seemingly-innocuous prizes turned into bothersome endeavors. With plenty of tough forest navigation still remaining, you decide to continue on, leaving the Sagewood's blade as temptation for the next traveler.

The nearest branch is a good twenty feet up. After your third attempt to shimmy up the trunk ends in a painful fall, you step away from the tree and reconsider your options.

The situation feels familiar, and you recall past moments in which seemingly-innocuous prizes turned into bothersome endeavors. With plenty of tough forest navigation still remaining, you decide to continue on, leaving the Sagewood's blade as temptation for the next traveler.

Navigating up the rest of the tree is a much easier affair. The metal decorations make for awkward movement, but you manage a steady pace. Upon reaching the blade, you make a pleasant discovery - several pieces of intact gear have been swept into the crown of the tree.

You unhook and drop the items, watching them as they bounce and plummet to the ground below. A short while later, you're back upon the forest floor, richer for your efforts.

You deftly step out of the way as the weapon, and many other objects, come tumbling down. It's a messy descent - belts and boots kick neighboring weapons, which it turn sever branches and collide with breastplates in a chaotic dance. Long-undisturbed metal particles rain down, coating the forest floor in red streaks and patches. The clamor is grating to the ears, but is mercifully over quickly.

You sift through the rusting pile and retrieve your prize, still intact.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Climb the tree.

The first branches are more than twenty feet up, requiring a slow, ponderous shimmy up the trunk until you're able to reach up to grab hold of an embedded spear - one that supports your weight. </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\01_wme_sskassault

Transcript
As your path through the Blade Grave winds among broken spires of rust and bronze, a messenger dissolves before you from the turbid winds, his shouts grasped away by the howl of air against metal.

As he stumbles closer, you recognize the wiry form of Mattias Brown-Bottom. He thrusts a missive into your hand, covering his mouth with a cloth as he struggles to catch his breath.

In the missive, Jagged-Remedy's rough hand describes a concerted attempt by Disfavored troops to steal Sentinel Stand Keep for their bald, inbred general. They bivouac, he claims, in some rough canyons a few hours' journey from the citadel. He requests your assistance.

You see the silhouette of the Disfavored runner long before you see the purple tabard and the insignia of a Crescent Runner, the young scouts of the Disfavored legion. She snaps to salute as she approaches.

"Fatebinder! I come bearing word from Iron Guard Rumalan. The Scarlet Chorus don't understand the Archon's Privilege and make another attack upon Sentinel Stand!"

"We've kept their scouts from the walls thus far, but a second gang bivouacs less than a day's journey from the citadel. If you can lend your blade, a sudden assault from the rear would surely turn the tide of battle!"

An Unbroken approaches openly with hands raised, her cloth cowl pulled back to reveal cinder-black hair and bright eyes set in olive skin.

"Fatebinder! I greet you on behalf of Janos of the Unbroken. That bald bastard Graven Ashe decided he wants Sentinel Stand Keep after all. The Disfavored are making a concerted effort against the stronghold."

"We rebuffed their squadron from the wall, but a new offensive gathers within a few hours' march from Sentinel Stand. Will you again lend us your aid, that we can send them back to their general in pieces?"

You don't see Bleden Mark until he stands directly before you, arms folded, teeth gleaming white.

"Hey, kid. So that little fort of yours - Sentinel Stand Keep... seems Ashe wants it. His soldiers are on their way to seize your keep. If you want to defend your claim, now's the time to do something about it."

As he finishes his sentence, he steps back, vanishing into the darkness.

Travel to Sentinel Stand Keep to aid the Chorus.

Send word that you will not be able to aid them.

The ordered file of the Disfavored have broken up slightly in the uneven terrain of the Blade Grave. Several smaller patrols, backed by Earthshaker mages, dot the battlefield before you, iron arms polished free of rust and at the ready. Focusing on their preperations to take Sentinel Stand, they neglect your approach...

You tell him you have more important matters to resolve. Jagged Remedy will have to defend Sentinel Stand Keep himself. If he can't manage to retain a fortified stronghold that's further protected by the Overlord's wrath, he doesn't deserve his position as a Crimson Spear.

Travel to Sentinel Stand Keep to aid the Disfavored.

Send word that you will not be able to aid them.

You hear the howling of the Chorus gangs even as you approach their muster. There, not quite in sight of the citadel, hordesmen and Blood Chanters shout and bang bronze against shields. Though the noise is maddening, it allows you to approach the enemy undetected...

You send the scout back with a simple response: your work with Ashe demands your presence elsewhere. Rumalan will have to defend Sentinel Stand Keep herself. You remind her that she and her soldiers represent the Disfavored, the finest fighting force on Terratus, and they should have no difficulty defending a stronghold as solid as the ancestral seat of the Regents from the ragtag gangs of the Scarlet Chorus.

Travel to Sentinel Stand Keep to aid the Unbroken.

Send word that you will not be able to aid them.

The ordered file of the Disfavored have broken up slightly in the uneven terrain of the Blade Grave. Several smaller patrols, backed by Earthshaker mages, dot the battlefield before you, iron arms polished free of rust and at the ready. Focusing on their preperations to take Sentinel Stand, they neglect your approach...

You remind the messenger that while you value the Unbroken as allies, you are not in their service. Janos will have to hold Sentinel Stand Keep without your assistance. If the Regents could man those walls for centuries, surely the Unbroken can stave off a few Disfavored soldiers.

Travel to Sentinel Stand Keep to repel the Disfavored.

Ignore the Disfavored threat.

The ordered file of the Disfavored have broken up slightly in the uneven terrain of the Blade Grave. Several smaller patrols, backed by Earthshaker mages, dot the battlefield before you, iron arms polished free of rust and at the ready. Focusing on their preperations to take Sentinel Stand, they neglect your approach...

You recognize the wisdom in Mark's dismissal of the stronghold in Stalwart and decide to abandon it to Ashe's people. A garrison there means fewer soldiers at Iron Hearth when the inevitable time of reckoning comes.

The air in the Blade Grave remains curiously still, as if the long rage of the Edict of Storms exhausted whatever bluster the winds once held.

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\01_wme_stalwartrefugees

Transcript
Through the billowing dirt and rust kicked up by the Edict of Storms, you make out the shifting silhouettes of a small group ahead of you. Appearing lightly armed and armored, the group pulls two carts in their wake. They haven't noticed you through the maelstrom.

Allow them to pass by without making your presence known.

Hail them.

Wary of your presence, the travelers halt when you hail them, and await your approach. Their emaciated faces make it clear that hunger has left them weak. One steps forward to explain that they're scavengers from old Stalwart hoping to trade their haul in exchange for food for their families. A glance at their goods reveals that they're carrying remnants of bronze and iron arms likely scrounged from the Blade Grave.

The leader of the group, head bowed deeply in deference, asks if they may pass.

They continue past without noticing you, and fade into the wailing winds.

Leave them be.

Guide them.

Proclaim them guilty of treason.

Confiscate their goods.

You allow the scavengers to continue their journey. They thank you, bowing repeatedly, before picking their way among the rocks. Soon they vanish, every trace of their passing consumed by the howling winds.

Escorting the travelers, you lead them through the ragged wastes to the Blade Grave's broken border. They thank you profusely for your assistance, swearing to spread word of your fairness to others in Stalwart. Their leader shows her appreciation with a few pieces of scrap before the group continues their march away from the Edict of Storms.

You pronounce their verdict before the travelers realize they're on trial. They are guilty, you proclaim, of unlicensed trade, theft, and unlawful possession or Kyros' iron. The sentence for any one of these crimes is death.

The travelers' leader falls to her knees, begging for mercy, even as her companions reveal tarnished and broken blades.

Execute them.

Deaf to their pleas, you fall on them with weapons drawn, butchering the scavengers with ease.

Your attention turns to their goods. Better the metal scraps be in your hands than left here to rust.

By your authority as Fatebinder, you declare their goods forfeit to the Court. The travelers glare at you but do not object as you collect their meager wares from their carts. You remind them that a few sacks of scrap is a small price to pay for their lives. Directing them to return home, you leave the travelers to the mercies of the Edict of Storms. </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\01_wme_windtower

Transcript
You crest a rise in the road, revealing an expansive vista before you. The winds of Kyros' Edict of Storms howl through the Blade Grave, driving clouds of rust and grit through ravines gouged by the maelstrom. The arcane storm has twisted corroded iron and bronze into jagged formations that arc high above the land.

In the distance, you espy through the tempest a barbed silhouette, unmoving against the horizon. It towers aside a shallow gully, offering a momentary respite from the gale.

Approach it.

Avoid it.

By some combination of erosion and accretion, the structure is significantly narrower at its base than its apex, expanding upward like the bloom of an enormous alloyed tulip. As you approach, you catch sight of the bent remains of several banner poles, one of which even bears the tattered remnants of a standard, little more than a few dozen wispy threads whipping in the wind.

Sensing the danger in exploring such an unstable structure, you give the tower a wide berth and continue on your journey.

You hold a hand against the wind to get a better look at the formation.

The arcane edifice rises above you, an overhanging plane of shattered detritus broken by the rare glimpse of bone or dried flesh. Desiccated strands of human organs dangle darkly, snapping in the wind like bullwhips. Empty eye sockets peer down at you from shadowed helms.

Some of the metal looks salvageable. Alternatively, you could try ascending the tower by its jutting thorns.

Having finished with the tower, you leave it behind and continue into the storm towards your destination.

Examine the formation.

Leave.

Having finished with the tower, you leave it behind and continue into the storm towards your destination.

Scrounge for salvage.

Climb the thorns.

You take a few hours to pry any loose metal you can find from the formation. The scrap comes away in broken blades, dagger tines, spear heads, dented plates of armor, and half-shields. You add it all to your supplies; you'll have it melted down into ingots when you next find a forge.

Time dilates as you pull yourself higher, one hand after the other, and it feels like hours pass before you find an alcove deep enough to offer some respite. You climb into it, breathing heavily, and are surprised to find a large fissure among the rusted stalactites. You lower yourself into it and find yourself in a small, dim room illuminated only by the threads of daylight peaking in through the windswept metal spines.

Smooth stones compose the floor, and the splintered remnants of wooden posts bear up the five corners. A sizable square opening, framed with worn wood and bearing a pair of broken hinges, is sunken into the floor near the far wall, descending into deeper darkness.

You manage to climb your own height several times over when you place your hand directly on the edge of an axe. It bites into your flesh, and you lose your grip, slipping from the tower and plummeting to the stones below.

You land on your arm with a resounding crack audible even against the wind.

Tightly gripping the curved spines above you, you raise your feet and find some purchase with your boots. As you pull yourself up, your back and forearms ache.

Cradling your arm to your chest, you manage yourself to your feet and stumble back towards the road and your destination.

Cradling your arm to your chest, you manage yourself to your feet and stumble back towards the road and your destination.

Lower yourself into the dark.

You drop a torch into the hole and, when nothing hostile responds, gingerly lower yourself through the door. Your feet find purchase on a ladder of holds cut into the stone, allowing you to climb easily down.

After retrieving the torch, you discover yourself within a quiet pentagonal room sheltered from the Edict raging outside. Judging from the shuttered arrow slots, the rack of verdigris-coated weapons, and the empty armor stands, this was once a watch post of old Stalwart. The scents of decay and old feces permeate the air.

"This must be what it smells like to be Barik," Verse mutters.

Search the ruin.

For the most part, the room is disappointingly barren. A table stands against one wall with some simple, dust-coated dishes. Clothes are piled under some moth-eaten hammocks. As you pass your torch over one corner, you find the jumbled remains of a watchman. The broken bones and disarray of the skeleton suggests a violent demise. As do the human-sized teeth marks.

Prize in hand, you leave the tower and continue towards your destination.

The body is folded over an old war axe. You brush the dust from the handle and find the wood intricately worked in the ocean iconography so common to the Tiers.

Taking the weapon's haft in both hands, you pull it from the dead man's abdomen. You're rewarded with an iron-headed axe of unusual quality. The preternaturally sharp blade reflects (or perhaps glows with) a faint green light.

Draped in tattered rags and crawling with insects, the corpse is folded over an old war axe, notched and corroded. It seems whatever of value has long since been pillaged by moths and rot.

Prize in hand, you leave the tower and continue towards your destination.

Finally, you see a corpse in the corner furthest from the entrance, its leathery skin largely intact save for the gaping wound in its abdomen from which long-dried organs spilled and congealed into a single mass.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\02_wme_aster

Transcript
You see ahead of you a trio of carts at a standstill, their crates and barrels of goods spilled into the tall grass that lines the travel-worn road. Even from a distance you can make out a small pack of Beastmen circling a lone figure in a lusterous yellow shawl.

Their low growls carry on the wind.

Avoid them.

Approach them.

Attack the Beastmen.

You leave the road, giving the beasts and their victim a wide berth. An hour later, you think you hear distant howls on the wind.

As you close in on the caravan, you see that the Beastmen are harnassed for hauling work. Their fur is matted and filthy, reeking of mildew and sweat, and the cart's wheels have sunken into the mud, leaving long, puckered grooves in the road.

The beasts, claw-tipped fingers splayed in aggression, snarl at the lone human, who you recognize, with some surprise, as the merchant you met at the Bronze Brothehood's toll bridge at Ironhaul Trail. Noticing you, he cries out for a Fatebinder's aid.

Speak to the caravan.

Leave.

Deciding not to intervene, you continue down the road, deaf to the merchant's pleas - at least until they are silenced by the Beastmen. Sobs and growls follow you until the caravan is well out of sight.

You fall on the Beastmen without hesitation, and the first hits the ground immediately, the life snuffed from its eyes. The other two turn on you, hackles bristling and saliva dripping from fangs bared. Given a momentary reprieve, the merchant dives behind one of the carts.

The nearer of the two Beastmen lowers its knuckles to the ground as it prepares to pounce. The other grasps a stone on the side of the road, pulling on it with a throaty grunt, its muscles rippling across its back.

Attack the nearer Beastman.

Attack the further Beastman.

Intimidate the Beastmen.

You ready yourself as the closer Beastman pounces, driving your weapon into its open, waiting maw until it protrudes from the back of its skull, bits of brain pelting the earth like rain. You turn towards the second creature in time to see a mud-crusted stone hurtling towards you. You take the brunt of the blow on your shoulder and the world spins as your back hits the muck.

The closer Beastmen pounces and you dodge aside and dash past it, leaving it to skid and flail in the muck behind you. You come upon the second creature as it tears the stone from the ground, its back still to you. You take that opening, driving your weapon into its spine with a wet crunch.

The two Beasts glare at you, but they are stilled. The nearer creature assaults you with a truncated bark and fetid breath, but backs away. With one last look over you, the pair turn and bound away, leaving you with the merchant.

The beast lopes towards you on all four paws, slavering for your flesh. You lash out with your foot, catching the creature in the knee just as it raises its front claws. It howls in agony, offering you an opening to jab your weapon deep between its ribs.

It collapses beside you in the mud, shuddering before its life finally flees it.

The merchant approaches you, misty eyes above a sheepish grin, thanking you profusely for saving him from the brutes he'd hired.

"I confess I spoke ill of you after our encounter at Ironhaul, but now I entirely regret it." Aster picks mud from his drooping moustache. "Please allow me to repay your assistance. I'll halve the price of my goods for you, anything you want!" He gestures over his heavily burdened carts. "See anything you like?"

"That's twice now you've helped me, good Fatebinder!" Aster says, wiping mud from his stubbled chin. "Perhaps I can help you in kind. All of my goods, at half price!" He glances over at his cart. "Really it'll be a favor. No idea how I'm going to get this product to the Brothers now." He shakes his head. "Well, that's my concern, not yours! See anything you'd like?"

The Beastmen look up from the quivering merchant, pale yellow eyes falling on you, taking you in, sizing you up as if judging the quality of a meal. "Human breaks in on cart-hauling. Human should flee while still has legs."

The cowering merchant shakes his head. "Please! Wait! You're a Fatebinder, right? You have to help me!"

A loud slap of paw on skin splits the air as one of the Beastmen backhands the merchant, sending him to his knees.

The lead Beastman glances back at his packmate, then returns his glowering attention to you. "Scamper-flee, human runt. Now."

Attack with Fire magic.

You sign a sigil that illuminates your features with pale, flickering color. You unleash the arcane power as the nearer Beastman charges, and the spell tears at its flesh, sending the beast sprawling into the grime. The farther Beast takes less of the brunt of the spell, managing an agonized howl before loping away, skin raw and blistered.

"I must, must I? What makes you think that?"

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Stop this nonsense immediately or you're all going to die by my hand and Kyros' law."

[To Aster:| "You just don't know how to stay out of trouble, do you?"

"Well... you're a Fatebinder, and I am a citizen - are you not duty-bound to help me?"

"Do you have licenses for your goods?"

[Address Beastmen] "He makes a fair point. What's the issue here?"

"Legal assistance is not without expenses."

"Of course! And I'd be happy to furnish them, provided that these brutes haven't trampled them into the mud!" He glares unhappily at the Beastman that slapped him.

He belts out a harsh bark of laughter. "Oh, of course. I understand, Fatebinder. I'll pay my fair share of taxes if you'll get these things away from me!"

"Problem?" The lead Beastman's head tilts slightly, an ear twitching as he gazes down on you. "Man is problem. Man pay rings to Slackneck and pack. Slackneck's pack pulls load. But roads stick to feet, to wheels of carts. Man brays constantly. 'Speed up! Faster-faster!' Insults Slackneck. Insults pack. Pack must answer insults."

The merchant shrugs sadly. "I guess I got my mother's good looks instead of her good luck."

Silence hangs on the air. The Beastmen sink back on their haunches as the merchant gets back to his feet. Two of the Beastmen back away, putting some space between themselves and you.

"Yes, I paid them to haul my goods, and they're making an utter mess of it! Look at my cart axels! And don't start me on the pace! The stars cross the sky faster!"

"Aster man not worthy of respect." He gestures to you. "Not strong, not like human who smells of power and blood."

"Slackneck - you were hired to haul these goods, correct?"

"Aster, what are you paying them?"

"I've decided how we're going to handle this."

[Leave] "I'll let you four sort this all out."

"By all means, Fatebinder, tell us." Aster's gaze falls to the Beastman's claws. "Before the anticipation kills us."

"Decided what?" Slackneck scratches his head. "What needs deciding?"

"I don't see how that matters." He folds his arms. "Fine. A bronze each from the Crossing to the Brothers."

"Three bronze rings human dangles like trap-snare. No great treasure horde for long haul."

"What? Of course he was! I paid rings and provisions for a few days labor but all I'm getting are idle hands."

Slackneck watches Aster shout himself out, then turns his yellow eyes to you. "Aster man give rings. Rings buy hauling. Rings don't buy impossible speed. Rings don't buy respect. Rings don't buy insults." He frowns, cocking his head, one claw tapping his chin. "Bronze doesn't mean pack must listen to human insults!"

"Insult? It's not an insult to call you slower than dye drying if it's accurate."

"You and your pack have been paid, Slackneck. Get them back to work and don't harm Aster."

"Aster, the work is clearly harder than you anticipated. Double their pay."

[Attack the Beastmen] "You Beasts are clearly a danger to honest folk. Better to put you down now."

Aster sighs and cradles his face in his palm. "I knew a Fatebinder coming along was too good to be true."

You walk away, leaving the caravan to its own problems.

"By Lethian's freckled ass! First Ironhaul, now this! Is your sole purpose in this world to trample on merchants?"

"I didn't hear you bargaining for more." Aster rolls his eyes.

Slackneck's lip curls back from yellow fangs. "Beastmen strong. Grunts of human Prima of Primas not matter to Beastmen!"

"You made yourself beholden to the laws of Kyros when you entered into a deal with one of the Overlord's licensed merchants."

"And Aster, for his part, is going to stop taking out his frustrations on you."

[Intimidate] "Do you want me to MAKE you obey, Beastman?"

Slackneck growls, but then nods. "Beastmen will haul Aster's burdens. This time."

Aster sighs. "Fine. Let's get moving then." He looks to you. "Thank you, Fatebinder."

"Double? But that's... that's acceptable. Two bronze each. Provided you get the carts to the Brothers within the span!"

"Yes. Two bronzes will do, yes. Will even listen to mewling for two bronzes." He eyes Aster. "Maybe."

You stand tall, feet planted wide, and growl a threat as you brandish your bloodied weapon.

You turn into the renewed charge of the first Beastman, splitting its skull handily. It collapses into the mud, splashing you with grime and blood.

You turn back towards the first Beastman with a roar, your offhand reaching down and grasping a handful of the fallen Beastman's hair. With a grunt, you lift it by its head before smashing the dead creature's skull against a stone. Your hand comes away caked in blood and bone.

Attack the second Beastman.

Intimidate the Beastman.

Attack the remaining Beastman.

Intimidate the Beastman.

You roll to your feet with a roar, your offhand reaching down and grasping a handful of the fallen Beastman's hair. With a grunt, you lift it by its head before smashing the dead creature's skull against a stone. Your hand comes away caked in blood and bone.

Speak with the merchant.

Walk away.

Ignoring the merchant, you wipe blood from your face and fling it from your hands with a flick of your wrist. You turn from the man in yellow and walk away, and his assertions of gratitude collapse into silence.

Ignoring the merchant, you wipe blood from your face and fling it from your hands with a flick of your wrist. You turn from the man in yellow and walk away, and his assertions of gratitude collapse into silence.

"I confess I spoke ill of you after our encounter at Ironhaul, but now I entirely regret it." Aster picks mud from his drooping moustache. "Please allow me to repay your assistance. I'll halve the price of my goods for you, anything you want!" He gestures over his heavily burdened carts. "See anything you like?"

"That's twice now you've helped me, good Fatebinder!" Aster says, wiping mud from his stubbled chin. "Perhaps I can help you in kind. All of my goods, at half price!" He glances over at his cart. "Really it'll be a favor. No idea how I'm going to get this product to the Brothers now." He shakes his head. "Well, that's my concern, not yours! See anything you'd like?"

"Enough, Aster. We have other things to discuss."

"By all means, Fatebinder. Adjudicate away!" He plants his hands on his hips.

You bind your wounds as you continue towards your destination.

You continue towards your destination.

The standing Beastman takes a step back, growls, and then bounds away into the woods.

The standing Beastman takes a step back, growls, and then bounds away into the woods.

The two Beasts glare at you, lips curled over yellow fangs. The nearer creature leaps towards you, and you only barely deflect its attack, driving it back. The other, however, takes advantage of your distraction, raking its filthy claws down one of your arms, parting flesh with ease.

Warm blood drips into the grass as the beasts circle...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Attack with Frost magic.

Attack with Lightning magic. </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\02_wme_pleasuresoftheroad

Transcript
A large carriage has been parked by the side of the road. Several Beastmen workers regard you with dull expressions and motion towards the crest of a nearby hillock, more interested in catching some rest. You hear a laugh and the splash of water beyond it, audible over the roar of the nearby river.

Demand that the services be given for free.

Decline the offer and leave.

[40 rings] Spend time with the man.

[50 rings] Spend time with the woman.

Citing your position as a Fatebinder, you demand that all services be offered without charge in support of ongoing war efforts. The 'businessman' stammers for a moment before nodding, dutifully, gesturing towards the pair with a strained smile.

You don't have time for such distractions and decline the man's offer, turning back to rejoin the road.

You venture off and find some privacy amongst a copse of trees. The man proves himself to be a skillful but taciturn lover, approaching his job with almost workmanlike focus. The strong and silent type, perhaps. His lack of overt charisma doesn't detract from the experience, however, and you find yourself very, very satisfied.

She grabs you by the hand and leads you into a small tent, scented heavily of lilies. She disrobes quickly and gestures impatiently towards the fur-lined floor. Seeing your hesitation, she pushes you to the ground and climbs on top of you, quickly beginning the session with nary a word. Despite the rushed experience, you can't fault her skills, which prove formidable enough to bring you to a swift conclusion.

Leave.

You nod to the flesh-peddler and thank him for his services, turning back towards the main road.

One of the prostitutes suddenly starts walking towards you, but stops herself as the finely-dressed man calls out to her sharply. Her shoulders slump and she lets out an loud sigh, sitting back down on the ground.

It isn't long before the group is no longer visible from the road.

[75 rings] Request time with both of the prostitutes.

The finely-dressed man pauses at the suggestion, but ultimately succumbs to your offer of rings. He gestures to the pair, who nod and take you by the rocky riverbank, a decidedly uncomfortable-looking location for tripartite coitus. The river churns loudly at your feet, obscuring all noise beyond the immediate area. As the two disrobe, they shout above the water's roar, frantically explaining that they are nobles of Ardent and have been kidnapped by Brotherhood extortionists. You have just enough time to realize that this isn't an oddly-specific customer fantasy before the pair's handler arrives, flanked by two Beastmen.

Despite their precautions, the pairs' voices carried far enough to be overheard. The man leading the entourage doesn't deny his affiliation with the Brotherhood, instead explaining that his captives are the adult children of a powerful Ardent noble, taken captive while the Brotherhood was on contract with the Voices of Nerat and thus, he contends, legally acquired. The two prisoners look at you expectantly, awaiting your response.

Execute the kidnapper.

Allow the agent to continue on his mission.

Demand a bribe in exchange for your cooperation.

Convince the man that this plan will backfire.

Convince the Beastmen to turn on their master.

You declare the flesh-peddler guilty of various transgressions against Kyros' law, though kidnapping is all that's needed to justify his death. The Brotherhood agent grabs a heavy blade, and shouts for his Beastmen slaves to fight. The trio are well-coordinated and surprisingly skilled, and though you ultimately subdue them, you do not do so without injury.

With the fighting over, the two captives quickly don proper clothes for the road, thanking you profusely for your assistance. They promise to spread word of your deeds, and to send a suitable reward upon their return to Ardent. Before you leave, you rummage through the carriage along the road, grabbing hold of supplies and valuables, a suitable recompense for your trouble.

You inform the Brotherhood agent that there is no legal quarrel with his arrangement. The female captive looks aghast at your words, but is held back by her brother.

You make it clear that this situation is of little concern to you, so long as your visit is treated as a matter of hospitality, as befits a Fatebinder. The Brotherhood agent is all too happy to acquiesce, gifting you a bag of rings for the pleasure of your company.

You inform the Brotherhood agent that his plan is a few years too late. The wealthiest of Ardent have perished in the war or become embittered by loss. The former is unlikely to be able to afford a ransom, the latter is likely to view the hostage offer as an insult and strike back rather than negotiate.

The Brotherhood agent is sufficiently perturbed by your words, and motions for the Beastmen to stand down. The two nobles quickly throw on proper clothes for the road, thanking you profusely for your assistance. They promise to spread word of your deeds, and to send a suitable reward upon their return to Ardent. Before he leaves, the agent sheepishly hands you a pouch of rings, hoping to absolve himself further of any wrongdoing. You depart the river, satisfied with the turn of events.

You ignore the Brotherhood agent, locking eyes instead the Beastmen under his control. You speak of your time with the tribes to establish your authority, then shame them for subservience to such a lowly human - a crime akin to following the lowliest of bolverks.

Spend time with the male prostitute.

Spend time with the female prostitute.

You nod to the flesh-peddler and thank him for his services, turning back towards the main road.

One of the prostitutes suddenly starts walking towards you, but stops herself as the finely-dressed man calls out to her sharply. Her shoulders slump and she lets out an loud sigh, sitting back down on the ground.

It isn't long before the group is no longer visible from the road.

You nod to the flesh-peddler and thank him for his services, turning back towards the main road.

One of the prostitutes suddenly starts walking towards you, but stops herself as the finely-dressed man calls out to her sharply. Her shoulders slump and she lets out an loud sigh, sitting back down on the ground.

It isn't long before the group is no longer visible from the road.

With the fighting over, the two captives quickly don proper clothes for the road, thanking you profusely for your assistance. They promise to spread word of your deeds, and to send a suitable reward upon their return to Ardent. Before you leave, you rummage through the carriage along the road, grabbing hold of supplies and valuables, a suitable recompense for your trouble.

As you approach the bank, you see two figures in the water, bathing themselves. On the shore, a tall man draped in fine fabrics takes notice of you and lets out a piercing whistle - a well-muscled man and a curvaceous women rush out of the stream in response, wrapping themselves in thick robes. The tall man greets you with an exaggerated bow, and explains that he is a pleasure provider, of the itinerant variety. He gestures to the pair, both of whom are strikingly attractive, and asks if you're in the mood to partake.

Afterward, as you lay upon the grass, panting, he takes your hand and leads you back to the riverbank. He gestures towards his partner, asking if you have the stamina to enjoy both of them at the same time. The flesh-peddler cocks an eyebrow, looking at you to see how you'll respond.

Before you can even catch your breath, she kicks open the flap of the tent and walks you out. As you pass by her partner, she flashes you a rare smile - the first you've seen on her face - and asks if you think you can handle two of them at once.

Your words catch fire in their minds, and they turn upon their master with monstrous ferocity, raking him repeatedly across the face from both sides. He drops to the ground, his head a ragged and misshapen crimson pulp. The Beastmen let out a victorious cry before bounding across the river, to destinations to unknown.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Your most cunning argument fails to sway the agent.

Your most cunning argument fails to sway the agent.

Look around and check for an ambush.

The peddler and his prostitutes aren't armed, and little of their chosen spot along the bank suggests a trap. Two small tents have been erected atop soft patches of grass. You peer inside their open flaps and see nothing but blankets, colorful pillows and jars of fragrant perfume - hardly a threatening sight.

Still damp, the muscular man raises the sleeve of his robe to dab his forehead, exposing a leather band around his wrist. Though solid for half its length, the rest of it separates into finely twisted strips of leather coiled through seashells - a common design found in coastal Ardent. You count four shells on the band, a discreet but unmistakable signifier of nobility.

Question the peddler about the armband.

Ignore the oddity.

Though the armband's design raises uncomfortable questions, you banish any such thoughts from your mind. The peddler, uncertain how to interpret your hesitation, simply repeats his earlier question and gestures towards the uncomfortable-looking prostitutes.

You point out the peculiarity of the armband, an item reserved for Ardent nobility yet somehow in the hands of the peddler's worker. As you voice your question, the female prostitute lunges forward and grabs your hands, pleading with you for assistance. Between frantic sobs, she blurts out that they are Ardent nobles that have been kidnapped by Brotherhood extortionists.

The peddler jams a few fingers into his mouth and issues a piercing whistle, quickly summoning the Beastmen guards to his side. He doesn't deny his affiliation with the Brotherhood, instead explaining that his captives are the adult children of a powerful Ardent noble, taken captive while the Brotherhood was on contract with the Voices of Nerat and thus, he contends, legally acquired. The two prisoners look at you expectantly, awaiting your response.

Continue...

Continue...

You inform the Brotherhood agent that his plan is a few years too late. The wealthiest of Ardent have perished in the war or become embittered by loss. The former is unlikely to be able to afford a ransom, the latter is likely to view the hostage offer as an insult and strike back rather than negotiate.

Convince the man that this plan will backfire.

The peddler and his prostitutes aren't armed, and little of their chosen spot along the bank suggests a trap. Two small tents have been erected atop soft patches of grass. You peer inside their open flaps and see nothing but blankets, colorful pillows and jars of fragrant perfume - hardly a threatening sight. </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\02_wme_spinehedraattack

Transcript
The path ahead winds through a patch of twisted oaks. Dry foliage crunches underfoot, and the hymns of insects score the day and night alike. The mingled scents of dill, wheat, and algae sour the air.

Barely audible over the crunching of tree litter, you hear a creaking sound, like tightening rope, as the leaf-carpeted soil begins to shift around your feet.

Stand your ground.

Leap for safety.

The tendrils lash at you, attempting to wrap around your arms and legs. Though they bite through your exposed flesh with fang-like thorns, you manage to fend off their grasp and escape the road.

Like a storm of whips, a half-dozen green tendrils erupt from the ground. They lash wildly at the air, and the two nearest manage to slap against your thighs and calves, biting through your exposed flesh with fang-like thorns.

Identify the attacker.

Tear yourself free.

Carefully slip free.

You've heard of these plants, the spinehedera. A rare creeping ivy that spreads from a central flowering stalk, the spinehedera use their prehensile vines to trap prey, puncture their skin, and wring from them their blood. Enough damage to the central stalk will kill the plant and neutralize the threat of its vines.

A slowly building heaviness in your limbs and blurriness to your vision reminds you that these plants also inject a powerful numbing agent into their victims...

Attack the central stalk.

Grimacing as thorns sink into your palms, you grab handfuls of fibrous vine and tear them from your skin. At first this seems like a losing proposition, the freed vines whipping back around your extremities, but you manage to outpace the plant's wild flailing and painfully free yourself from its tendrils.

With efficient care you disentangle yourself from the vines, deftly slipping away from the flailing storm of green tendrils.

Leave the plant.

You stumble away from the plant, your head swimming, your feet falling heavily into each step. You glance back at the vines only to see them sinking back into the soil, readying themselves for their next victim. You continue on, your head clearing and feeling returning to your limbs as you put distance between yourself and the plant.

Search for a weakness.

The vines continue to thrash, grasping wildly for you. Your vision blurs slightly, numbness seeping into your limbs. Your arms hang at your sides, heavy and awkward.

Your assault on the heart of the plant earns you a few more welts from the slashing thorns, but you manage to split the stalk down its center. Viscous sap oozes from the twitching creature, and a tangy copper scent lurks in the air. The spasming vines thrash their last, and then go limp.

You collect some of the sap and shavings from the vines, certain such things can be of use in an apothecary. With sensation slowly returning to your limbs, you continue towards your destination.

The tendrils lash at you and wrap around your arms and legs, biting through your exposed flesh with fang-like thorns.

You back away from the thrashing plant and check yourself over. Though you bleed from dozens of small lacerations, the damage could be far worse...

The thrashing tendrils stymie your attempts to slip away from the plant. The vines seem to tense, digging the thorns deeper into your flesh and dragging you slowly towards the center of the plant...

You've heard tale of many carnivorous plants that exist across Terratus, but nothing that helps you identify - or kill - this one.

A heaviness slowly builds in your limbs, and your vision begins to blur...

You are unable to discern any weaknesses within the cloud of lashing whips...

The vines continue to thrash, grasping wildly for you. Your vision blurs slightly, numbness seeping into your limbs. Your arms hang at your sides, heavy and awkward.

You draw your arms, alert for the source of the disturbance, searching for signs of a trap.

Like a storm of whips, a half-dozen green tendrils erupt from the ground.

You pull your limbs free and roll away from the thrashing vines.

You're not quite quick enough to avoid the tendrils twisting up the length of your legs.

You back away from the thrashing plant and check yourself over. Blood pours from dozens of lacerations along your arms, legs, and face. You will certainly need to bandage yourself before you journey further.

In the flurry of motion, you spot an eye in the verdant storm, a central stalk standing still among the lashing whips.

In the flurry of motion, you spot an eye in the verdant storm, a central stalk standing still among the lashing whips.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\03_cv_threewayfight

Transcript
The three groups look at you expectantly. The Chorus gang leader, a stout woman in ragged leather and hide, rests her hands on the pommels of her bronze blades. The Disfavored commander, compactly muscled under his heavy iron armor, has shield and blade at the ready. The apparent spokeswoman of the Sages, a short woman in blue scribe's clothes, glares openly, chin raised slightly as if she hopes to ward off Kyros' troops through the weight of her disdain.

The Chorus woman's mouth splits into a wide grin. "So this is the vaunted Fatebinder, hero of Ascension Hall!" She laughs at the Disfavored. "Y'all are screwed now, boys. Hand over the Sages and be on your merry way."

"The situation, Fatebinder." The commander's hand remains clasped to his breast in salute. "We were in the process of apprehending this group of Sages for delivery to Iron Hearth when these Chorus bastards tried to swoop in and claim them from us."

"Fatebinder." The young Sage stammers the word slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We beg the clemency of the Court of Tunon!"

"Simple... Graven Ashe wants prisoners, the Voices of Nerat wants knowledge. The Disfavored will take the prisoners, and the Chorus their scrolls and belongings."

[Attack| "I think the Tiers could do with one fewer Chorus gangs."

"The Chorus makes its claims by strength of arms, commander, and mine is with them. Do you really want to test it?"

A long silence lingers as the two groups of soldiers stare one another down.

"Shits!" Her blades appear in a flash of bronze. "It's us or them, lads! Let's make it us!"

"We're done here. Fall back." The Disfavored commander pounds his gauntlets together and spits. "Know that General Ashe WILL hear about this."

"You wouldnâ€™t stand a chance against the Disfavored. Do you really want to fight them with me on their side?"

The gang leader's expression twists through an impressively varied series of grimaces and glares. "Fuck." She spits, then looks to her followers. "Let's haul ass before shit goes from bad to worse."

"The Voices of Nerat claims this territory, making the Sages part of the Chorus jurisdcition. Kyros' law is clear on this matter, or do you dispute the Overlord, commander?"

"Take your purple standards back to Iron Hearth. Leave the Sages."

"You're shitting me, right? These are the Contested Lands! Contested is right there in the name!"

"We'll be taking yours, too," he raises his shield. "Kill them all!"

"Don't you have some valuable intelligence about Disfavored troop movements and the Fatebinder's actions to deliver to Nerat?"

"What is this about?"

The gang leader smirks. "We may be on opposite sides of this, but I can't say I don't appreciate your style." She looks to her fellows. "You heard the Binder. We're headed to Cacophony."

"I can provide independent arbitration. Let's hear what you're offering."

"What remains of the School of Ink and Quill swore itself to my banner. These people are mine."

"I'm taking these Sages into protective custody of the Court of Tunon."

"We're bound for the Mountain Spire, Fatebinder." Sweat glistens across the Sage's forehead. "These Disfavored accosted us, then the Chorus showed up demanding we be handed over. We were coming to you, though."

"This is Sage... ah... I forget some of the younger ones. Still, might be worth taking her in, though."

"Hide and reagents? How can I refuse the Chorus offer?"

"The Court welcomes the Disfavored's tithe."

"Oh come on!" She frowns at her Disfavored counterpart. "Kyros forsaken law dogs, right?"

"You've heard the stories about me. You know what I'm capable of. Flee while you yet live."

"Shit." The gang leader looks to her counterpart among the Disfavored. "You know what? This has officially become not worth it. You want them, you can have them." She backs off, taking her gang with her.

"A foolish notion, young wordthief. You realize, I trust, that Tunon is not the Archon of Unconditional Mercy."

"Do you really think that's wise, Fatebinder?"

"Trust me, Barik."

"Good point."

[Glare silently]

He nods silently.

He returns your unblinking gaze.

"I'm glad you agree."

"Don't we get a say in this?"

"No," the two leaders say at once.

The commander growls. "We find the compromise... acceptable."

"Screw it then. Hand over the scrolls and you'll see the rear of us."

"Run back to pappy's skirts, bucket-head." The Chorus leader grins happily as the Disfavored trudge away. "Thanks, Binder. Shit could have gone sideways if you hadn't shown up. We'll make sure the Archon knows you had a hand in getting him these Sages."

"Thank you, Fatebinder. I wouldn't call this ideal, but it is... better than the alternative."

"Feeling a bit less Contested these days, ain't it?"

He growls. "If that's the Fatebinder's ruling..." The commander looks to his troops. "Move out!"

"Many thanks, Fatebinder. I'll be sure to report your assistance to the General."

The Sage seems quickest on the uptake. "The information a Sage can offer should be obvious - scrolls for research purposes at the very least. Possibly even magical knowledge!"

"Wait! What?"

The commander scoffs. "The legion will happily provide a tithe to the Court in order to ensure the wheels of justice remain well-lubricated. Say ten bronze rings?"

"Making her way to the Mountain Spire to see the Fatebinder?" He scoffs. "I've heard more likely claims from recruits trying to get out of latrine duty."

"The Voices of Nerat claimed the Burning Library, including any whelps that survived the Edict of Fire!"

"Ten bronze?!" The Chorus leader scowls. "We've got, uh, some hides. And, hey Stinky, you've got alchemical supplies on you, right?" One of her crew nods unhappily. "So yeah, we can offer that, too. And the undying favor of the Voices of Nerat, obviously."

"Undying? Don't make me laugh. The favor of the Archon of Secrets wouldn't outlast the week."

"So what'll it be, Binder?" The Sage chews her lip.

"Fucking cowards." The Disfavored turns towards you, raising sword and shield. His words, when they come, contain grim finality. "Graven Ashe protects."

He growls. "If that's the Fatebinder's ruling..." The commander looks to his troops. "Move out!"

The gang leader's expression twists through an impressively varied series of grimaces and glares. "Fuck." She spits, then looks to her followers. "Let's haul ass before shit goes from bad to worse."

The Sage offers a shy smile. "Thank you, truly. I wish I had something worthy of our gratitude, but none of us were really initiated into the School's real mysteries yet." She pulls a scroll case from her shoulder.

"Take these, though, please. For your aid." She grins. "I look forward to seeing what you do next. Our School may have recorded history, but you're MAKING it." </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\03_wme_riverofflame

Transcript
Your journey across the blackened, scalded earth of the Contested Lands is interrupted as the stones beneath your feet tremble. With a groan that shakes the sky and rattles your ribs, the earth tears violently open, throwing an arcing gout of flame, smoke, and cinders into the air.

The pyrotechnic arc collapses as quickly as it arose, spraying sparks across the stone as it crashes to the ground. You find yourself separated from your destination by a wide and curving band of slowly-flowing lava.

Craft a bridge.

Jump the gap.

Cool the lava.

Find another route.

Between the gear in your packs and the remnants of blasted trunks that dot the landscape, you manage to fashion a workable - if precarious - crossing over the shifting molten stone. Shielding your mouth against the smoke, you make your way above the flow and continue on your journey.

With a running leap you throw yourself across the chasm, sliding to an abrupt stop on the far side. Your legs tingle, singed by the brutal heat, but you continue towards your destination undeterred.

Your hands twist and contort, signing the symbol of the Archon of Frost into the air, drawing down the ancient history of rime. You gesture outwards, channeling the arcane energies forward, and they take shape in a blast of air frigid enough to freeze a Tiersman in their tracks.

You see no effect at first, but continued effort causes the molten flow to slow, darken, and finally stop entirely. You make your way across the gully before the heat of the Edict of Fire can break up the earth again.

It takes the better part of two grueling days of rough climbing and threading the gaps between precariously balanced stones, but you finally locate an archway of stone upstream that allows you to cross the burning river unscathed.

Ask Eb to solve this.

The Tidecaster summons a dreary fog that meets the lava with a sizzling, roiling profusion of steam. When the path ahead finally cools off to a merely scalding temperature, you're able to safely dash across the hardening lava flow.

You look around for materials to craft a bridge from, but you find nothing.

You examine the gap, even going so far as to make a couple of short jogs towards it, before deciding there's no way you can make the jump. </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\03_wme_threewayfight

Transcript
As you pick your way through craggy, blasted hills peppered with the charred remnants of trees, the weak breeze carries to your ears distance-muted shouts from somewhere to the east.

Approach openly.

Approach quietly.

Ignore them and continue.

Rather than allow the chaos that has gripped the Tiers to distract you from your goal, you continue on through the Contested Lands and towards your destination.

You crest a rise and see below you three groups locked in argument, heated words errupting on all sides.

Listen to the argument.

Join the argument.

Attack everyone.

Sneak away.

You hang back and try to pick out strands of meaning from the chaotic shouts. It quickly becomes clear that the fight is mostly between the Chorus gangleader and her counterpart among the Disfavored: the two are fighting over who gets to take the three Sages custody. The lead Sage, however, interjects half-heartedly to object, claiming that her people won't be taken alive.

You notice the Sages' bags bulge with parchment. Given your proximity to the ruins of the Burning Library, there's every possibility these Sages carry arcane writings rescued from the Sages' former stronghold.

Save the Sages.

You charge down the hill towards the commotion, your boots pounding the stone, your weapons lowered against warriors sporting scarlet and violet alike. With practiced efficiency, the Disfavored raise blades, javelins and shields to meet your charge. The Archon of Secrets' gang leader shouts a command and the Chorusmen draw bronze and wood. "Traitor!" she screams, spittle raining from her lips.

The Sages step back, fingers twisting protective sigils before them.

The conversation gutters as you approach the armed men and women. "What the fuck do you want?" the Chorus gang leader growls.

"Fool!" the Disfavored sergeant barks. "This is the [Player Title| of the Mountain Spire." He turns to you, his gauntlet rapping against his breastplate in salute. "Will you settle this, sworn vassal of the Adjudicator?"

You charge down the hill towards the commotion, your boots pounding the stone, set on taking no prisoners...

Noting that the group hasn't noticed you yet, you decide not to involve yourself. You turn your back on the argument and press on through the Contested Lands and towards your destination.

Weapons have been drawn, and the members of each group gesture wildly. They have not yet spotted you, distracted as they are with their own argument.

Attack the Disfavored.

Attack the Chorus gang.

You charge down the hill towards the commotion, your boots pounding the stone, your weapons lowered against the legionnaires of Graven Ashe. With practiced efficiency, they raise blades, javelins, and shields to meet your charge.

You charge down the hill towards the commotion, your boots pounding the stone, your weapons lowered against the ragtag sycophants of the Archon of Secrets. Their leader shouts a command and the Chorusmen begin drawing bronze and wood.

"The Fatebinder?" the Disfavored lieutenant asks, blinking. His features fill with rage. "An ambush! Gut the cowards!" Iron flashes as the ironclads advance on you.

"The fuck is this?" the Chorus gang leader asks, eyes flitting between you and the Disfavored. "Is this your vaunted honor, ironclad? A damned ambush?" She spits on the blasted earth before shouting, "Kill them all!" Bronze weapons ready as the Chorusmen advance on you.

"The Fatebinder?" the Disfavored lieutenant asks. He looks to the Chorus gang leader. "This law dog with you?" She shakes her head.

"Ain't got use for traitors!" she shouts back.

"Well then," he levels his blade towards you. "Seems we've got common cause after all."

The scarlet-draped woman smirks, drawing bronze. "Tunon's Court of Fatebinders, always bringing people together."

Their cry comes in unison: "Charge!"

You crest a rise, keeping low to the blackened soil, and see below you three groups locked in argument, heated words errupting on all sides.

Terratus seems to lurch below you as the dry soil falls away, sending you crashing to the ground, sprawled out before the quieted adversaries. For a moment, all is silence as the warriors stare down at you.

Bright red paint slathered over shoddy leathers identify a small gang of Chorusmen, violet capes cling to ironclad members of a Disfavored squad, and quills and scrolls hang from the dusty clothing of a trio of Sages.

Bright red paint slathered over shoddy leathers identify a small gang of Chorusmen, violet capes cling to ironclad members of a Disfavored squad, and quills and scrolls hang from the dusty clothing of a trio of Sages.

Weapons have been drawn, and the members of each group gesture wildly. They have not yet spotted you, distracted as they are with their own argument.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\03_wme_warmhospitality

Transcript
A thick wreath of smoke is visible from the road, coiling into the sky from behind a charred hill. A few discordant cries break the stillness of air for a brief moment. You follow the ashen trail to its source and spot a crowd of villagers surrounding the smoldering remains of a burnt house, somber and grave.

Confront the group and demand an explanation.

Ignore them and return to the path.

The smell of burnt flesh assails you as you approach. A haggard-looking woman notices you and gasps, gathering up her soot-covered skirt in her hands, as if ready to flee. You see a dozen other men and women with her, faces gaunt, skin cracked and dusty from ash.

Thank the woman for her service and spare her some rings.

Execute the woman for illegally destroying potential war assets.

Promise the village protection from Chorus forces.

Torch the entire village for being complicit in these murders.

It takes her a moment the register your gesture, half-expecting that you might hand her a blade instead of the rings. She thanks you for the rings and asks you to wait a moment, rushing momentarily to the rear of the destroyed building.

Citing your authority as a Fatebinder, you pronounce the woman guilty of the willful destruction of war assets, noting that the Sages and their belongings should have been directed to agents of Kyros for lawful disposal.

She drops to her knees, hands trembling as she lowers her head. Between pained gasps, she begins to tell the other villagers that she had their interests at heart, but is silenced by your weapons before she can finish her words. The settlers cries out in horror, but not a single word of protest is uttered.

You ignore the frightened villagers and step towards the blackened house, spotting two corpses near its now-collapsed door. You quickly rifle through the Sages' blackened bodies and retrieve a few items of value - better to confiscate them than to leave such knowledge in the hands of peasants.

With Chorus patrols roaming the blackened countryside, it isn't surprising to hear that some villagers might fear for their lives. You assure the group that their actions, while hasty, weren't illegal in the eyes of the Disfavored. You produce a scrap of paper and note down the villager's location, whisking it away in a raven's claw with a jolt of your arm. That missive, you note, will make the settlement known to Disfavored forces, who will claim jurisdiction and provide protection when they are able.

A mixture of relief and apprehension is visible in the villagers' eyes, but only words of thanks and agreement are given voice. The tired woman approaches you with a partially-burned satchel and pushes it into your arms, noting that it's all the remains of the Sages and is better entrusted to a Fatebinder. You thank her for the items and return to the road.

With weapon drawn, you force the villagers to kneel before you as you pronounce your verdict. The entire settlement is guilty of murder - directly or as accessory to the fact. The punishment, you declare, is a complete razing of the village. You grab a wooden beam from the burnt house and set it aflame, handing it to the woman that set the initial blaze.

You step into some of the homes as they begin to burn, claiming any items of value you see by your authority as a Fatebinder. Satisfied, you return to the road, leaving the growing flames in your wake. As you walk, a cacophony of angry shouts trails after you, followed by a high-pitched scream, and then silence.

Judging the affairs of local villagers beneath your concern, you return to the road.

You demand an explanation, and the woman admits that the village gave shelter to four Sages, a decision that she considered foolhardy. Fearing reprisal from Chorus patrols or Disfavored scouts, she barricaded the house's only door and set fire to the building while they slept. The group isn't of one mind - some remain quiet, while others call her a murderer. The argument intensifies momentarily before you let out a shrill whistle to silence them. The villagers turn to regard you, their fates in your hands.

Returning with a partially-burned satchel, she pushes it into your arms, saying it's late Sages' possessions - things best entrusted to a Fatebinder. Several villagers shake their heads and glare at her, but say nothing as you depart and return to the road.

She stares at you, dumbfounded, before realizing that you mean for her to do the deed. She stumbles towards the next building, trembling as she presses the burning beam against it, igniting the dry roof. The villagers stare in shock as she moves from one building to the next.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\05_wme_act3stonesea

Transcript
You catch a hint of movement in the distance, little more than a shiver of shadow among the remnants of a village that clings to the edge of a pillar of stone. You remain far from both [Plainsgate| and Cacophony, so it seems unlikely that settlers or soldiers lurk among the ruins.

Perhaps scavengers, raiders, or a rogue pack of Beastmen have made the crumbling buildings their home...

Investigate further.

Avoid the village.

Adobe homes, cracked by the Overlord's Edict of Stone and bleached by the sun, rest in a loose semicircle around where you imagine a well or square once stood. Instead, the land ends abruptly, demarcating a plunge of hundreds of feet into the shadowed depths below.

From the windows of several of the houses spills a faint violet light.

Deciding to leave whatever resides in the ruins be, you offer the remains a wide berth as you continue on your journey.

Investigate further.

Leave.

You move quietly nearer one of the buildings, using it as cover to see within the next house, the near wall of which has conveniently collapsed. Within you see a group of humans gathered around shards of Azurelith, the pale purple crystals that appeared throughout the Stone Sea in the wake of Kyros' Edict.

As you get closer, you can see that they wear the bare minimum of clothing necessary to preserve their modesty, and their skin bears lines of light that shimmer purple against the darkness within the home.

Investigate further.

The people within the squat building seem wholly unaware of you, their attention entirely on a shrine of collected Azurelith shards that dominates the far corner. The lines of light on their skin seem to trace primitive runes which bear a distant semblance to the markings Beastmen sometimes carve into their skin.

The people chant quietly, invoking Cairn, the fallen Archon of Stone, to restore their lands and deliver them from suffering.

Attack the villagers.

Speak to them.

Leave.

Taken by surprise, the Stone Sea denizens barely manage to raise pitchforks and falxes against you before you fall among them, your superior training and mystic power entirely overwhelming the outmatched villagers. Blood splatters the wall and pools on the floor, running along cracks in the floor to be absorbed by the thirsty stone.

It's over in moments, and you stand victorious over the corpses of the fallen.

You step into the open and hail the group, inspiring a commotion of startled cries and raised pitchforks. You offer your open, empty palms and consider what to say to them...

Having had enough of these strange Azure dwellers, you creep away as quietly as you approached, leaving them be and unaware of your presence.

You search the bodies for rings or other valuables, finding some hide and precious metals among the detritus. You leave the slaughter behind and abandon the village to continue your journey.

Take the Azurelith.

Leave it be.

Taken by surprise, the Stone Sea denizens barely manage to raise pitchforks and falxes against you before you fall among them, your superior training and mystic power entirely overwhelming the outmatched villagers. Blood splatters the wall and pools on the floor, running along cracks in the floor to be absorbed by the thirsty stone.

It's over in moments, and you stand victorious over the corpses of the fallen.

You load your pouches and packs with as much of the purple crystal as you can carry, leaving behind the bloodier bits. You feel certain that your findings will interest your allies.

You load your pouches and packs with as much of the purple crystal as you can carry, leaving behind the bloodier bits. You feel certain that your findings will interest your allies.

You load your pouches and packs with as much of the purple crystal as you can carry, leaving behind the bloodier bits. You feel certain that your findings will interest your allies.

You search the bodies for rings or other valuables, finding some hide and precious metals among the detritus. You leave the slaughter behind and abandon the village to continue your journey.

You search the bodies for rings or other valuables, finding some hide and precious metals among the detritus. You leave the slaughter behind and abandon the village to continue your journey.

You search the bodies for rings or other valuables, finding some hide and precious metals among the detritus. You leave the slaughter behind and abandon the village to continue your journey.

Kills-in-Shadow crouches low at your side and quietly sniffs the air.

"Stone Sea humans smell of Elderteeth, whisper of Stone Archon. Think Elderteeth will make humans strong - but does not."

"What are you doing out here?"

"Whether or not Cairn could help you aside, you know that this superstitious idolatry is wildly illegal, right?"

"How many rings to purchase those crystals from you?"

[Attack| "Enough of this - your life is forfeit."

One of the villagers, a lanky man with stringy hair, steps forward. You notice that his skin seems dry and dusty, cracked in some places like the parched earth of the Stone Sea. His eyes shimmer with violet light, but it may only be a reflection from the Azurelith.

"We commune with the Man of the Mountain. He grants us his boons and protects us from the cruelties of this place. He shall come to us in time, to save us from the Overlord's tyrannical yoke!" The other villagers nod in agreement.

The tall man smirks. "We care not for the laws of the foreign invaders."

The villagers gape at you, aghast.

"We would never sell the gifts of the Man of the Mountain! No amount of rings could convince us!"

"Eventually someone from Cacophony will wander this way. If the Scarlet Chorus finds you here, it won't go well for you."

"Do you mind if I join you?"

[Leave| "Farewell."

The strange villagers make no move to stop you as you leave them behind.

[To Sirin:| "Can you take care of this?"

The Archon of Song grins wickedly. "Much better they worship me, right?" Even as she finishes the sentence, her voice is rising into a sustained musical harmony, somehow vocalizing multiple notes at once. The villagers turn their unfocused gazes to her and slowly set aside their crystals.

"I have them. What should I do with them?"

"The Man of the Mountain shall protect us. Already he grants us his favor."

Eyes wide with surprise, the villagers invite you into their circle. They paint your features with crushed crystal, and as you meditate on the quiet violet light, you feel a warmth spread from your bones into your skin. You leave the villagers behind, feeling hardened against the dangers of the Tiers.

[Conscript them] "Cacophony is just to the east of here. Gather your things. The Voices of Nerat will be excited to meet you."

"Go to Stone Down Gorge and tell the Stonestalkers there that I sent you."

A murmur rises among the villagers. "To the Beasts?" one asks, voice quavering.

[Lie| "It will be an easy life, and they'll treat you like kings."

"It'll be tough, but if this is how you want to live, this is the best way to do it."

The villagers nod solemnly, gather the crystals and supplies that they can carry, and embark in the direction of Stone Down. You continue on your journey.

The villagers look to one another, fear in their eyes, but they bow to your will and gather their crystals and belongings for the short trudge to Cacophony. You continue on your journey, confident that the Archon of Secrets will find some use for these wretches.

Enslave them for the Disfavored.

Conscript them for the Chorus.

Recruit them into your coalition.

Send them to the Stonestalkers.

Send them to [Plainsgate|.

The villagers nod in time with Sirin's song and gather their belongings for the long journey to [Plainsgate|. You leave them to continue your journey.

Hope alights in the villager's eyes as they nod in time to Sirin's anthem. They gather their gear for the long journey to your Spires. Confident that they will be utilized in your war effort, you continue your journey.

The villagers nod in time with Sirin's song, their expressions vacant. They gather their belongings for the long march to Iron Hearth, and you continue on your journey, confident that these villagers will be put to use by the Disfavored.

Take the Azurelith.

Take the Azurelith.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

The people within the squat building seem wholly unaware of you, their attention entirely on a shrine of collected Azurelith shards that dominates the far corner. The lines of light on their skin seem to trace primitive runes which bear a distant semblance to the markings Beastmen sometimes carve into their skin.

The people chant quietly, invoking Cairn, the fallen Archon of Stone, to restore their lands and deliver them from suffering.

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\05_wme_librarylooter

Transcript
A full-figured woman in a grime-smudged smock beckons to you as your paths cross near the derelict ruins of a nameless town spread amongst the cracked stones of old Azure. She waves excitedly, almost bouncing from foot to foot. "You," she cries out, "look like a traveler of MEANS!" Her voice echoes down the abyssal crevasse between you.

Approach her.

Avoid her.

You pass without much interaction, brushing aside her attempts to converse. As you walk away, she continues in the opposite direction, gaze downcast.

She tugs on her bandolier, drawing attention to the numerous soot-stained scroll cases stashed on her person.

Olive eyes peer at you above a button nose and dimpled cheeks as she excitedly informs you of the rare and potent secret texts she has on offer... for a price.

Peruse her wares.

Interrogate her.

Convict her.

Leave.

She claps her hands together excitedly and begins to rattle off the sundry scrolls she's collected.

The woman blinks rapidly at your approach, a hand absently twisting her tightly braided hair. "Ah... Fatebinder. I didn't realize it was you."

You stride purposefully towards the woman, and inform her of your duties as a Fatebinder of Tunon the Adjudicator and an arbitrator of the legal code of Kyros.

She blanches, her mouth hanging slightly agape. From the look on her face, it seems well aware of the Court of Fatebinders.

You immediately inform her that she's in violation of the Overlord's provisions against the possession of forbidden knowledge. She begins to stammer an excuse, but you see her fingers forming practiced sigils.

Execute her.

Spare her.

You lash out at her before she has an opportunity to finish her spell. The first blow ruins her hands, and she screams, holding the mangled appendages to her chest. Your second strike ends her life.

You rifle through her robes, discovering a small bundle of parchment. It's possible the magician had more cached away nearby, but if there's any truth to that supposition, it died with her.

You assure her that she's in no danger from you, despite your pronouncement, and she calms, hands still free to form spells if the need arises.

Leave.

She thanks you for your clemency and offers a few dusty and weathered scrolls for your mercy.

"Would you have called out if you had recognized me?"

"Who are you?"

"If you know who I am, you know you'd better answer my questions."

"Of-of course!" she stammers. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. I would not dare to keep secrets from a Fatebinder."

"Uh... maybe not?" She grins sheepishly. "Best not to court the attention of the Overlord, right?"

"Start talking."

"[Player Name|, meet Sage Antignia," Lantry steps forward to introduce the two of you, "Tig, meet Fatebinder [Player Name|." He proffers her a curt bow. "Sorry, I didn't recognize you at first, but I you've changed your hair and in my defense, I'm not entirely sober."

"I am Antignia, Sage of the School of Quill and Ink," she announces formally, back straightening slightly at the claim. She deflates immediately. "Or was, before the troubles at the Vellum Citadel."

"And I didn't recognize you as I thought you'd be a pile of ash! It's good to see you escaped the Edict and are in one piece." She nods her head toward you. "Did the Fatebinder arrest you? Did I catch you being marched to Court?"

"Not exactly, but I'm following the Fatebinders orders - that's all you need know."

Lantry points toward the Sage. "Antignia worked on the other side of the Citadel from me, but I've known her for ages. She's good people - mostly harmless."

"Yes," Antignia nods emphatically. "Entirely harmless!"

"But I suppose you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Firestarter?"

"I mean, I'm still Antignia. Just no longer a Sage." She frowns. "Or maybe I'm not Antignia anymore, that being the name I chose when I finished my apprenticeship." She shrugs. "I guess I'm still working out exactly how everything fits together now."

She shakes her head. "Regardless, people generally just call me Tig. Feel free to."

"You wanted my attention. Now you have it."

"What are you doing out here?"

[Leave] "Right. Goodbye."

"Well, you see, I'm trying to make it to Ardent. And then, I don't know from there. See if a boat can take me elsewhere... maybe even venture into the north, I guess. I just want to be away from the Tiers and away from war, and just as far away as I can get from the stench of ash and soot."

"Travel isn't free, though, especially now with the wartime scarcity and the Chorus looters. So I've got some scrolls, magical and historical research and the like, that I, er, rescued from the Citadel. I'm willing to part with them for rings to help me along my way."

"You escaped with some of the library's scrolls? Brilliant! I've lost plenty of sleep grieving over all that we left behind."

"You are aware that possession of Forbidden Knowledge is a punishable offense under the laws of the Overlord?"

"You are aware that the Overlord had me issue the Edict of Fire for a reason, correct? That possession of Forbidden Knowledge is a punishable offense?"

"Let's see what you have on offer."

[Leave] "I'm not interested."

"Oh, uh... sorry for wasting your time."

"Are you sure, Binder?" Lantry asks, nib of his quill pressed against his lips. "We may not have another opportunity to, er, archive and protect this knowledge."

Tig claps her hands. "Oh! You won't be sorry, I promise!"

"But, uh, I - " the Sage stammers, suddenly finding her feet intensely interesting. "Surely not EVERYTHING in the Vellum Citadel was forbidden. I mean, not all knowledge is evil, right?"

"Oh!" Tig looks up at you, eyes wide. "So... Did you decide you wanted some of the Ancient Secrets of the Sages?"

"Fine. Show me what you have, Tig."

[Leave] "I'm sure."

"Ah." He looks longingly towards Tig's scroll cases. "Very well then. Farewell, Antignia, and be safe - may we cross paths again."

"I'm not sure you want to challenge the Fatebinder on degrees of being forbidden but, um..." Lantry stammers on the end of his sentence before falling silent.

"That's for Kyros to decide. And for me, as the Overlord's representative."

"I suppose I can overlook it this once."

"I certainly appreciate it!" She wipes her brow with the back of her hand, smearing a broken line of dirt across her forehead.

"A show of good faith, perhaps in the form of a donation of one of your more dangerous acquisitions, would go a long way towards indicating that you understand the danger of the situation."

"A show of-" she frowns before her eyes widen in recognition. "Oh, you want a bribe! Why didn't you just say so?"

"Subtle as ever." Lantry massages the bridge of his nose.

"Here!" She pushes a weathered sheaf of papyrus into your palms. "This should do the trick!"

"Of course!" She nods furtively. "And what better way to judge this than to look at my scrolls? I won't hide anything, promise!"

[Attack] "I hereby find you guilty of possession of Forbidden Knowledge. I declare the sentence to be death."

Her eyes widen in fear, but her fingers immediately beging to form sigils, magic taking shape around her.

Defer to Lantry.

Lantry introduces the woman as Sage Antignia, and she admits that she fled the Burning Library with some scraps that she now wishes to sell to pay her passage through the Tiers.

"Are you aware the Sages have sworn allegience to me? What's left of the School is being put back together."

"I'd heard something along those lines." Tig grinds the ball of her left foot into the dirt. "That's great news... great news."

"You don't seem particularly impressed."

"There's a place for you at the Mountain Spire if you want it."

"If you're not interested, you're not interested."

"Well sure, it's impressive. I'm not saying you're not impressive..." Her teeth press into her plump bottom lip.

"At the Spire?" She can't hide the awe from her voice, but then she grimaces.

"It's not that it's not interesting... but yes, Fatebinder. I'm afraid there's no going back for me."

She shakes her head. "No. I've got to go elsewhere. Somewhere safe. Away from all of this." She gestures vaguely towards the Edict-blasted towers of stone jutting from the earth and punctuated by pulsing deposits of purple crystal.

She blinks numbly as you walk away, leaving her behind you in the dust of the Stone Sea.

"Thank you for your clemency, Fatebinder." She bites her lower lip, then rifles quickly through her bag and thrusts out a rolled sheaf of dry parchment. "This is on the house. In appreciation for your mercy." After handing you the scroll, she shuffles away into the dust of the Stone Sea.

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\05_wme_shiftingseas

Transcript
You spot a peculiar sight in the distance - a giant plateau, much like the one you stride upon, has collapsed, tilting across a large chasm as it fell and smashing into the side of another, taller tower of stone and dirt. The two have fused into a single structure, with the remnants of the fallen plateau forming a narrow walkway along the chasm's edge.

The newly-formed path isn't an easy one. Sudden ascents and uneven footing prove tiresome, while crumbling rock and loose dirt make for perilous travel. Deep shadows cast by the pillar above you blanket the path, making visibility worse than expected. Suddenly, the path in front of you ends, a fifteen-foot gap separating you from the walkable ground on the opposite side.

You peer over the edge, but can only see a dark expanse beneath you. Above you, you see a small, rocky shelf with a tree bursting from its side, deeply embedded in the dirt.

Use a pickaxe to carve your own path.

Climb up to the shelf.

Send Kills-in-Shadow to take a look around.

Backtrack and find another way through this area.

Loose dirt and crumbling rock are plentiful here, a dangerous combination but also one that may avail you now. With pickaxe in hand, you strike the side of the plateau wall, chipping away at it steadily.

After a few minutes of work, you remove enough material to expose a rocky step. You place one foot upon it to test its stability and, thankfully, it holds. You continue this process, lifting dirt and stone out of the way to form one step after another. It's painstaking work, but before you know it, you've safely crossed to the other side.

You continue onward, working your way through the rest of the steep path. The ledge begins to tilt upward, and you slowly make your way out of the shadowed chasm and back on to the wide expanse of a mercifully conventional stone pillar, where you're able to traverse across far more forgiving terrain.

You find a few rocks emerging from the side of the plateau wall, and use them to pull your way up towards the shelf. The dirt is loose and the handholds unreliable, forcing you to continuously test every rock and root for stability. As you stretch your arms out to grasp the edge of the shelf, the rock underneath your left foot tumbles out of the wall, sending you sliding down the steep slope.

You flail and grasp at anything that might break your fall, but nothing you touch stays rooted in the crumbling wall. You drop past the ledge, picking up speed, and as you brace yourself for a long fall, suddenly crash onto the ground. Dazed, you look around and realize that you've come to a rest on a large shelf, previously hidden by shadow, not very far from the ledge above.

You laugh in relief, eliciting a sharp pain in your upper torso. A large rock was gracious enough to break your fall... and one of your ribs. You regulate your breath to minimize the discomfort and climb out, reaching the opposite side of the broken ledge.

She leaps across the gap, stabbing her claws into the plateau wall midway to hold herself aloft. The beastwoman steadies herself for a moment, placing her feet against the wall before effortlessly launching herself to the opposite side. Now on stable ground, she settles back onto her haunches and scans the area.

As she looks downward, she chuffs in apparent amusement, pointing towards the space beneath the gap at your feet. As your eyes adjust to the dim light, you see a large dirt landing directly underneath you, one that may be easily reached. You drop down and climb back up the opposite side, easily returning to the ledge.

Deciding not to risk things any further, you turn around and take the ledge back to your starting location. There's no way to scale the massive plateau blocking your way, and thus you're forced to backtrack even further to find an alternate route. You eventually find a series of switchbacks that connects with a more circuitous trade route, but the detour ends up costing you a full day.

You continue onward, working your way through the rest of the steep path. The ledge begins to tilt upward, and you slowly make your way out of the shadowed chasm and back on to the wide expanse of a mercifully conventional stone pillar, where you're able to traverse across far more forgiving terrain.

You continue onward, working your way through the rest of the steep path. The ledge begins to tilt upward, and you slowly make your way out of the shadowed chasm and back on to the wide expanse of a mercifully conventional stone pillar, where you're able to traverse across far more forgiving terrain.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\05_wme_uncommonground

Transcript
You hear them before you see them - around a curve of dusty stone ahead, two sets of voices raised against one another. You struggle to make out what they say, but the words reverberate down the ravines and echo along the walls, muddling against themselves. You feel confident that Beastmen comprise one of the groups, humans the other.

Approach openly.

Investigate quietly.

Leave them be.

As you move towards the clamoring groups, one of the Beastwomen falls silent, nose turning upwards. Muscles rippling she turns and glares directly at you, nostrils flaring even as eyes narrow to knife-sharp slits. Fangs appear beneath curled lips. "Prima slayer!" she roars, the baritone rattling your ribs. Her packmates turn, and the pack begins to spread around you, stalking towards you.

The Sages glance toward one another, apparently forgotten.

Neither group initially seems to notice your approach. You clear your throat, and one of the Sages glances at you, his eyes widening. He points at you - "Fatebinder! We're here on a mission for the cause! You have to protect us from these savage beasts!"

"Who is savage?" a Beastwoman asks, backhanding the Sage and sending him sprawling to his hands and knees. He stands again, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and only succeeding in smearing the blood that has appeared there. His eyes meet yours, pleading.

As you move closer to the two groups, you make out one of the Stonestalkers barking about lost artifacts and Elder Teeth.

Neither group seems to take notice of you.

Pressing against the stone as you make your way silently towards the quarrel, you recognize the harsh and guttural tones of a Beastwoman. She describes a powerful individual, tall and muscle-graced, with iron words and eyes that flash with lightning. It's only when you hear the word 'prima' that you realize she's describing you.

You crest a stone outcropping and peer down on the argument. A small pack of Beastmen shout at a group of Sages, nervous figures in soot-coated clothes, the quills tucked among their persons limp in the heat. The Sages obstruct the distance between the Stonestalkers and a small camp composed of a few ragged tents and several wooden crates.

You crest a stone outcropping and peer down on the argument. A small pack of Beastmen shout at a group of Sages, nervous figures in soot-coated clothes, the quills tucked among their persons limp in the heat. The Sages obstruct the distance between the Stonestalkers and a small camp composed of a few ragged tents and several wooden crates.

Having determined that you would rather not involve yourself with whatever conflict drives the argument, you continue on your journey.

Investigate further.

Focusing your wrath on the Sages, you drop from your hiding place among the stones and spring into battle.

You pounce upon the unsuspecting Beasts with the ferocity of a predator falling upon its doomed prey.

Attack the Sages.

Attack the Beastmen.

You round the curl in the stone path and come across a mangy pack of Beastmen, hair matted and reeking, looming over a small group of Sages. The scholars' clothes are filthy with soot and the dust of the Stone Sea, and they've put themselves between the angry Beasts and a small encampment consisting of a couple of ragged tents and a few crooked crates.

Neither group seems to take notice of you as you approach.

Speak to the gathering.

You clear your throat, and, when that doesn't draw attention, let out a shrill whistle. The clamor dies down, and you move towards the quieted parties.

Making your decision with brutal efficiency, you leap into combat against the School of Ink and Quill.

Attack the Sages.

Attack the Beastmen.

Driven by your instincts, you pounce on the Stonestalkers, marking them as your foe and pressing for the kill.

You're half surprised to see so many Sages together after the combined destruction of the Edict of Fire and your own wrath at Effigy.

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\05_wme_unearthedvault

Transcript
Hours ago, two weary travelers assured you shelter and water awaited you at a trading outpost nestled within the remnants of an old Azurian city, just a few leagues away. Now, standing along the edge of a cracked earthen pillar, you can confirm your hopes of resupply dashed - the old ruins have been relocated into the depths of a massive chasm. Some of the city remains visible, smashed against a steep escarpment directly beneath the cliff's edge. As your eyes trace the rubble trailing down the slope, you spy the tell-tale swirls of blue and white paint along an intact wall, markers used to indicate granaries, armories, and vaults.

Though largely intact, the structure is precariously placed, and bits of rubble constantly tumble down the side. Safety issues aside, it may be worth a look.

Search the area for ways into the vault.

Skirt the edge of the chasm and move on.

The rocky slope leading to the vault is perilously steep. Losing your footing could mean a painful tumble to the unseen bottom, a fate few would likely survive. Rocks, roots and rubble line the way down and may be strong enough to support your weight. Nearby, the remnants of a wood and rope bridge dangle over the edge, still tied to a single wooden anchor along the cliff's edge.

Climb down the remnants of the bridge.

Carefully move down the slope on foot.

Use the remaining rope to rappel down the escarpment.

You give the rope around the anchor a firm tug and, convinced that it'll hold, slowly begin your descent down the remnants of the bridge, stepping on the flimsily-attached wooden slats as one would upon a ladder. Halfway down, your progress is interrupted by the discomfiting sensation of dust and pebble spraying atop the back of your head. An upward glance reveals a horrifying sight: the ground adjacent to the bridge's anchor is rapidly crumbling due to your weight upon it, spilling dirt and dust downward in an angry torrent. The particles cloud your vision as you grasp at potential handholds embedded in the slope. Your fingertips make contact with something solid, but it is too late - you feel yourself suddenly dropping.

The earth belches out a deep rumble, and the dirt around your feet rapidly begins to disintegrate, like sand energetically spilling down a slope. You quickly take hold of some thick roots and pull yourself upward, immediately ready to find the next handhold. A heavy object smashes into your shoulder, nearly making you lose your grip. Your limbs dart between any available surface on the way up - rock, trunk, unearthed pillars, former cobblestone, it doesn't matter. You don't stop until you pull yourself back onto the cliff, bruised, bleeding, muscles burning with exhaustion. Beneath you, the vault has completely disappeared from view, as has most of the escarpment that nearly claimed your life.

You take a moment to rest before resuming your journey around the chasm's edge, content to leave the vault to other, more foolhardy, travelers.

The slope is covered in fine particles and pebbles, making it unsuitable for unaided traversal. You carefully make your way down atop objects embedded in the ground - the top half of an old lamppost, the exposed roots of a buried tree, even the leather straps of old armor smashed between rocks. You gingerly make your way to the vault, gratified to see that its rear wall has been smashed, spilling rings and other valuables directly on to the dusty slope.

The earth belches out a deep rumble, and the dirt around your feet rapidly begins to disintegrate, like sand energetically spilling down a slope. You quickly take hold of some thick roots and pull yourself upward, immediately ready to find the next handhold. A heavy object smashes into your shoulder, nearly making you lose your grip. Your limbs dart between any available surface on the way up - rock, trunk, unearthed pillars, former cobblestone, it doesn't matter. You don't stop until you pull yourself back onto the cliff, bruised, bleeding, muscles burning with exhaustion. Beneath you, the vault has completely disappeared from view, as has most of the escarpment that nearly claimed your life.

Within a few minutes, you are able to pull up the entirety of the fallen bridge. You carefully separate the wooden boards from the thick strands and coil the freed rope around a nearby tree. With the end of the line firmly tied around your waist, you slowly lower yourself down the slope, resting your feet upon any protruding stone, roots, or rubble that you can find. The descent is quick, and within moments, you find yourself leaning against the rear wall of the Azurian vault, its thick walls conveniently smashed wide open, rings and other valuables spilled upon dusty slope like desert jetsam.

The earth belches out a deep rumble, and the dirt around your feet rapidly begins to disintegrate, like sand energetically spilling down a slope. The vault jerks suddenly, angling itself towards the gap's base before sliding downward with the shifting dirt. Your rope continues to hold, allowing you to carefully raise yourself as your feet occasionally makes contact with the receding slope. You pull yourself over the edge, heart-racing but unharmed. Beneath you, the vault has completely vanished from view, once more an unclaimed treasure of the Stone Sea.

What you think will be a fatal plunge into a vertical nothing comes to a sudden halt as you smash into the cliff wall and grab hold of a tree root as you struggle to find your footing on the nearly sheer incline.

You quickly scoop up as many items as you can, filling your pouches and rucksack. As you step closer to peer inside the vault, you feel the ground beneath you wobble disconcertingly.

You quickly scoop up as many items as you can, filling your pouches and rucksack. As you step closer to peer inside the vault, you feel the ground beneath you wobble disconcertingly.

You take a moment to rest before resuming your journey around the chasm's edge, content to leave the vault to other, more foolhardy, travelers.

You take a moment to rest before resuming your journey around the chasm's edge, content to leave the vault to other, more foolhardy, travelers.

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

You take a moment to rest before resuming your journey around the chasm's edge, content to leave the vault to other, more foolhardy, travelers.

</Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\06_wme_thewaif

Transcript
Even in the midst of the war between the Archons, travel along the long-conquered roads of the Bastard Tier tends to be relatively safe and uneventful. A river meanders slowly aside the road, and the plains sweep openly before you towards distant towering mountains and the hazy gray line of the Oldwalls on the horizon. From your vantage atop a rise you can make out far flung settlements and small stands of trees.

On a log off the road ahead, you make out a young Tiersman, not quite a woman grown, working at an object in her lap. When she spies you, she leaps to her feet, waving to capture your attention.

Speak with her.

Pass her by.

[10 rings] Purchase the sword.

Examine the sword.

The girl smiles warmly at your approach, though the expression falters slightly when she sees your heraldry. Tall and a tad lanky, the waif boasts an unkempt mop of brown hair and large eyes the color of unpolished peridot.

She asks if you are interested in a trade: an item she scavenged for the handful of rings she needs to purchase some chickens. She presents the object proudly, wrapped in a long sheet of clean cloth, and to your surprise it's a well-kept blade of expertly-worked iron.

You ignore the girl, passing her without so much as a glance. Behind you she sits again on her log and resumes tinkering whatever small piece of refuse she'd collected.

Deciding the distraction of the girl and her find do not deserve your time, you continue along the road, leaving her to ply her well-worn ware on some other traveler.

It's a long, well-forged blade with a sharp shift in its length about halfway up the blade. The design is clearly that used by the Disfavored, and a stamp near the hilt confirms that it was crafted by the Forge-Bound.

Threaten the waif.

Leave.

Keep the sword.

Pointing to the maker's mark, you tell the girl that the weapon is the rightful property of the Disfavored and, more specifically, of the Overlord who commands their loyalty. The waif scowls, but she says nothing, lips clamped so tightly together that the color drains from them.

You give the girl a thin leather cord heavy with rings in exchange for the weapon. She thanks you profusely, tying the cord about her neck and tucking the rings beneath the neckline of her tunic.

You glare at the girl, then slowly ask her if she really wants to be delaying the work of a Fatebinder of Tunon in order to sell a piece of scrap. She stammers out an apology, tucks the object under her arm, and takes off into the field at a full run. You blink as she goes, then turn and continue on your way.

Barik steps forward the moment you begin to unwrap it. "By the Great General!" he exclaims. "This is a Disfavored blade. And here!" He gestures at a symbol stamped near the sword's hilt. "This is the mark of the Forge-Bound who made it!" He turns his attention on the girl. "Where did you find this?" he asks, striding towards her as she shrinks from him.

You glare at the girl, then slowly ask her if she really wants to be delaying the work of a Fatebinder of Tunon in order to sell a piece of scrap. She stammers out an apology and, with only a brief glance at the blade still in your hands, takes off into the field at a full run. You blink as she goes, then turn and continue on your way.

She glares at you, cheeks reddening, then tells you that she found the weapon in the forest an hour's hike from the road. She says she can't be more specific than that.

The polished iron blade in your possession, you continue your journey through the Tiers.

Ask where she got the blade.

Leave her.

She explains that she found the sword in a stand of trees among the fields an hour or so south of the road. You know that it's an area you likely would never have visited otherwise.

You offer the girl a few rings if she'll lead you to the place where she found the blade. Her eyes widen at the copper, and she accepts with an enthusiastic nod.

[10 rings| Bribe her.

Threaten her.

Leave.

You offer her a small string of copper rings, and her eyes widen slightly at it before narrowing at you and the wealth obvious in your gear. She presses you for double, noting the danger of travel and the time it will take to lead you there and back.

Her eyes widen as you enumerate the punishments for hindering a legal investigation and hoarding stolen military assets of the Overlord. She stammers a promise to guide you to where she found the sword.

Deciding you have little time to comb every stretch of woods south of here for the promise of a little more iron, you take the sword and continue on, putting the waif behind you.

[20 rings| Pay double.

Threaten her.

Take back your rings and scare her away.

Tiring of the waif's insubordination, you pull back your arm, readying a backhanded strike. The waif covers her head with her hands in anticipation of a slap that doesn't arrive, dropping your rings in the process.

The waif scampers away in fear and her scrawny form soon disappears into the tree line.

You reclaim your rings and continue your journey.

Search the scene.

Examine the bodies.

Question the girl.

Leave the scene.

She leads you south across the fields over gently rolling hills sparsely cultivated with grains and vegetables. You eventually come to a lonely copse of trees, jutting from the wind-combed grass like a stone from the sea. Within the shade of the oaks you find a small squad of corpses, bloated and reeking, stripped to their smallclothes.

Follow her.

While you locate a few scraps of broken iron and shredded leather and find more than a little dry blood, it seems these bodies were thoroughly looted. It's surprising that the girl found even this blade left. When you ask her about it, she says she happened to find it pressed into the mud under one of the bodies.

Barik falls to his knees at the sight of the slain. "Brothers Marutius and Caelus, Sister Julia - members of the mighty seventh cohort, slain here and left with less dignity than that afforded a butchered pig." His head turns slowly towards you. "If these lands know no civility, is it not our duty to introduce it?"

You look the bodies over carefully. There are two men and a woman, each slain by violent trauma, but with heavily scarred bodies that indicate they've all been wounded numerous times prior. The evidence strongly suggests these were members of Ashe's Disfavored legion that finally suffered wounds against which Ashe's Aegis could not protect.

You turn on the girl, demanding she tell you what she knows of what happened here. She takes a step back, surprised by the scrutiny, and protests that everything here is as she found it, albeit a few days older. She doesn't know with certainty what occurred, though she mentions Scarlet Chorus raiders are a common sight in these parts.

Bury the bodies.

Leave and report your findings.

You and Barik set to digging graves for the departed. The sun hangs blood red just above the horizon before the work is done; soaked in sweat, you look down on three nigh-identical mounds with stones as markers.

"I regret more of the legion is not here to commemorate this moment, but at least my brothers and sisters can have some dignity." Barik sighs sadly. He looks to you. "Thank you, Fatebinder. My fellows may be far from home, but they would have appreciated the honor you've shown them."

You set to digging graves for the departed. The sun hangs blood red just above the horizon before the work is done; soaked in sweat, you look down on three nigh-identical mounds with stones as markers.

Turning your back on the grisly scene, you make your way back to the road, say your farewell to the waif, and continue on your journey.

You take up parchment and quill and decide who to inform about what you found here...

Graven Ashe

The Voices of Nerat

Tunon

No one

You draft a straightforward report of the slayings and send it to the Archon of War before continuing on your journey. You receive a missive in response thanking you for your continued friendship to the legion.

You draft a straightforward report of the slayings and send it to the Archon of War before continuing on your journey. The missive you receive in response includes only curt gratitude, though Ashe does note that he will commend your courtesy to the Archon of Justice.

You draft a coded missive for the Archon of Secrets and dispatch it to Cacophony before continuing on your journey. You never receive a response, but you get the impression from the Voices of Nerat when you next see him that he was amused by your findings.

You draft a straightforward report of the slayings and dispatch it to the Archon of Secrets before continuing on your journey. The bird that returns to you is spattered with blood, the missive scrawled in a wild hand. It asks if you have an accusation to make, or whether you merely enjoy wasting the time of your betters. The note ends in a ridiculously long list of tortures he'd have put the Disfavored soldiers through had he actually had the opportunity. The last line suggests he'll have to find someone else, perhaps a Fatebinder, to subject to such.

Before continuing your journey, you draft a brief report of your findings to the Court. A few days later you receive a formal missive of appreciation from the Archon of Justice. This is further evidence, he purports, of the chaos gripping the Tiers. Remain vigilant, he warns, and continue forward with unclouded eyes.

With the bodies buried, you make your way back to the road, say your farewell to the waif, and continue on your journey.

You agree and hand over the copper. The girl accepts with an enthusiastic nod and offers to show the way.

Before continuing your journey, you draft a brief report of your findings to the Court. A few days later you receive a formal missive of appreciation from the Archon of Justice. This is further evidence, he purports, of the chaos gripping the Tiers. Remain vigilant, he warns, and continue forward with unclouded eyes.

You draft a coded missive for the Archon of Secrets and dispatch it to Cacophony before continuing on your journey. You never receive a response, but you get the impression from the Voices of Nerat when you next see him that he was amused by your findings.

You draft a straightforward report of the slayings and dispatch it to the Archon of Secrets before continuing on your journey. The bird that returns to you is spattered with blood, the missive scrawled in a wild hand. It asks if you have an accusation to make, or whether you merely enjoy wasting the time of your betters. The note ends in a ridiculously long list of tortures he'd have put the Disfavored soldiers through had he actually had the opportunity. The last line suggests he'll have to find someone else, perhaps a Fatebinder, to subject to such.

You draft a straightforward report of the slayings and send it to the Archon of War before continuing on your journey. You receive a missive in response thanking you for your continued friendship to the legion.

You draft a straightforward report of the slayings and send it to the Archon of War before continuing on your journey. The missive you receive in response includes only curt gratitude, though Ashe does note that he will commend your courtesy to the Archon of Justice.

You ask the young woman to see the blade more closely, and, after eying you suspiciously for a moment, she passes you the weapon.

Continue... </Entries> </StringTableFile>

! conversations\worldevents\08_wme_rebelalliance

Transcript
As you make your way along one of the wide dirt roads that winds through the forests of old Apex, the mountains loom above you on every side, and only the Mountain Spire, jutting skyward from the center of the broken realm, provides a consistent landmark by which to navigate. Cresting a hill, you make out a flash of light on bronze through the trees accompanied by the movement of several individuals.

That much bronze, you realize, must indicate a group of Oathbreakers, and they seem to be just around the next bend in the road...

Avoid them.

Approach quietly.

Approach openly.

Deciding to avoid a possible confrontation with an Oathbreaker patrol, you move off of the road and into the forest, quietly pushing through the brush and routing around the occupied bend. The song of insects drones incessantly, only occasionally punctuated by the rustling of some woodland animal passing by unseen. After about an hour of woodland travel you break free again onto the dusty road and continue towards your destination.

Keeping low and using the thick foliage as cover, you move carefully through the underbrush marking the concave bend in the road. The far side of the bend slowly resolves in your view, revealing not one patrol of warriors, but two.

You decide to continue along the road. You are a Fatebinder of Tunon, after all, a representative of the Overlord, and you will not sully your authority by skulking through the forest. As you round the bend, you find yourself looking at not one patrol of warriors, but two.

Keeping low and using the thick foliage as cover, you move carefully through the underbrush marking the concave bend in the road. The far side of the bend slowly resolves in your view, revealing not one patrol of warriors, but two.

Spy on them.

Speak with them.

Attack!

Attempt to leave.

You clear your throat and step forward to address the motley soldiers...

Taking the initiative, you leap towards the soldiers as they bring up blades and shields to meet your charge...

You raise your hands - empty with palms out - to show you mean no harm to the bronze-clad fighters and begin to back slowly from them. They glance quickly to one another, and one of the largest turns his attention fully to you, taking a step towards you as his hand goes to the grip of his weapon. His companions draw their own weapons of bright, well-polished bronze...

Moving with extreme care, you close to within listening distance of the two groups. As you eavesdrop on them, it becomes immediately clear that the Vendrien Guard hope to recruit the mercenaries, explaining to them in no uncertain terms that if the Citadel of Vendrien Well falls, Kyros' Edict will slay every Tiersmen confined within the valley.

"Such is the way of the Overlord," the Oathbreaker tells the mercenary. "His troops die or we all die. There's no middle road, no parley, and no quarter."

Expose the lie.

Sneak away.

Like a shadow, you slip away unobserved. You make your way through the forest, quietly pushing through the brush and routing around the occupied bend. The chatter of the Tiersmen fades into the distance, and after about an hour of travel you return to the dusty road. You wipe the sweat from your brow and continue towards your destination.

You step forward, revealing yourself from the brush, sending the Tiersmen scrambling to ready a bristling bronze wall of spears, swords, and shields. You point at the Guardsman, calling out his self-serving lie. The mercenaries have little to gain from working with the Vendrien Guard and everything to lose: the Edict of Execution shall slay those in the valley only if the Citadel does NOT fall to Kyros' forces.

You should know, you tell them. The Edict was issued by your lips.

Even as the Vendrien Guardsmen howl for your head and advance on you with weapons drawn, the mercenaries holster their arms and withdraw into the woods.

You decide to continue along the road. You are a Fatebinder of Tunon, after all, a representative of the Overlord, and you will not sully your authority by skulking through the forest. As you round the bend, you find yourself looking at not one patrol of warriors, but two.

Keeping low and using the thick foliage as cover, you move carefully through the underbrush marking the concave bend in the road. The far side of the bend slowly resolves in your view, revealing not one patrol of warriors, but two.

Apex heraldry and heavy bronze scale marks the first group as members of the Vendrien Guard. The other warriors, however, wear rings of bronze set in heavy cured leather, a sigil on their tabard styled in the likeness of the Bane. You recognize them from your time as Governor of Lethian's Crossing: these are members of the Bronze Brotherhood, brutal mercenaries out of Haven.

Apex heraldry and heavy bronze scale marks the first group as members of the Vendrien Guard. The other warriors, however, wear rings of bronze set in heavy cured leather, a sigil on their tabard styled in the likeness of the Bane. You have heard that a group of brutal mercenaries out of Haven adopt similar heraldry.

Apex heraldry and heavy bronze scale marks the first group as members of the Vendrien Guard. The other warriors, however, wear rings of bronze set in heavy cured leather, a sigil on their tabard catches your attention, but as you lean forward for a closer look, a branch under your foot shifts and snaps, splitting the warm air with a resounding crack.

The eyes of every bronze-clad warrior turn on you...

Apex heraldry and heavy bronze scale marks the first group as members of the Vendrien Guard. The other warriors, however, wear rings of bronze set in heavy cured leather, a sigil on their tabard styled in the likeness of the Bane. You recognize them from your time as Governor of Lethian's Crossing: these are members of the Bronze Brotherhood, brutal mercenaries out of Haven.

Apex heraldry and heavy bronze scale marks the first group as members of the Vendrien Guard. The other warriors, however, wear rings of bronze set in heavy cured leather, a sigil on their tabard styled in the likeness of the Bane. You have heard that a group of brutal mercenaries out of Haven adopt similar heraldry.

Threaten the Tiersmen.

Convince the mercenaries to leave.

[500 rings| Bribe the mercenaries.

The oathbreakers and mercenaries turn on you as one, muscles tensing all about, hands inching towards weapons. The lead oathbreaker's mouth falls agape as she recognizes you.

You speak with easy evenness, reminding those present that the Overlord's rule is one of law. So long as one hasn't broken the law, by, say, taking up arms against a representative of said law, one has little to fear from Kyros.

Conversely, an individual could always discard the Overlord's goodwill, instead aligning with a doomed rebellion for a foreign kingdom. It truly is a difficult choice, between living under the Overlord's banner or dying in defiance of it.

The mercenaries back away from the oathbreakers, and their leader's eyes widen at the abandonment. She shouts out for attack, and the Vendrien Guard charge...

The Overlord rules the Tiers, you shout, your voice drowning out the oathbreaker captain's, and Tunon shows no mercy to those who raise arms against Kyros. Are these mercenaries, you ask, truly so devoted to the cause of fallen Apex as to throw in with these doomed, ragtag insurgents?

The sellswords share furtive glances before backing away from the oathbreakers and towards the trees. The oathbreaker captain spits in disgust and cries out for your head.

The Vendrien Guard charge...

Few crimes earn the enmity of the Court of Fatebinders, you state, than the death of one of their own. Those involved can expect to be hunted to the shores of the Tiers and beyond.

One of the mercenaries laughs. Who would bring charges against him, if all witnesses to the crime have expired?

Oathbreakers and mercenaries alike draw their weapons, advancing hungrily upon you...

These filthy rebels dare threaten a representative of Tunon the Adjudicator? You shout the question at them, and their eyes narrow in anger. Oathbreaker and mercenary alike draw their weapons, eager to spill northern blood...

You toss a cord of five bronze rings towards the nearest mercenary and he swipes it out of the air. He hefts it a couple of times, grinning.

"Not my going rate... but enough to avoid whatever trouble these fools seem intent on." He gestures his warriors towards the woods.

The Vendrien Guard captain spits in disgust and then cries out for your corrupt hands. The oathbreakers advance...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

Continue...

"Queenslayer!" Her blade is immediately freed from its sheath. "Mouthpiece of Kyros!" She thrusts the sword into the air. "Tiersmen, rally! This cur would take Vendrien's Well and consign us all to death! Run the whore-mouth through!"

"The Fatebinder." She slides her weapon from its sheath and holds it aloft. "Tiersmen, this is the tyrant who would take our lands from us. Who would claim the citadel. Who would damn us all to death." She lowers the blade's point towards you. "I know none more deserving of death than this one."

Continue...


 * }